Firework
by paganpunk2
Summary: Orphaned and removed from the only life he's ever known, Dick feels like there's no light left for him in the world. His new benefactor, however, still sees something worth saving... Chronological beginning of the Spark in the Dark series. T for language, abuse, and death imagery.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: First off, thanks to all of you who have read my other Spark in the Dark stories and have waited so patiently for this one. I'm sorry it took two weeks longer than expected to get off the ground, but hopefully you find the end result to have been worth the wait.**

**The title for this story was inspired by Katy Perry's song of the same name, which I also consider the anthem for this part of the series in general.**

**Happy reading!**

There was a brief second after the awful _snap_ that no aerialist ever wanted to hear during which Dick thought that maybe, just maybe, everything would be all right.

He was standing at the base of the ladder that led to the thirty-foot platform, one foot on the bottom riser as he prepared to scurry up for his part of the act, when it happened. Normally by now he would already be in the air, his father's strong fingers closing around his wrists as he caught him at the end of the quadruple somersault that was the boy's special entrance. Tonight, however, the show was running a couple of minutes behind, thanks primarily to the flurry of activity that had accompanied the arrival of some rich local man. Pop Haly had hustled to make special accommodations in the risers for the last-minute guest, only to be told that it really wasn't necessary. By the time the unusually nervous circus director was convinced that the billionaire really did just want to try and blend into the crowd, their timing was already delayed.

The result was that Dick was on the ground when the first wire broke. His gaze turned upwards as the echo of the support line's failure was drowned out by a collective gasp from the audience. _Mom!_ he screamed in his head. She seemed to freeze for an instant, almost hovering before gravity caught up and yanked her downwards. _No!_

Then, suddenly, a rescuer swept in. John Grayson, through some impossible contortion, had managed to reverse his swing and turn back, arriving below his wife just in time to grasp her legs as she tumbled past. It wasn't a clean arresting of her momentum by any means, and her face relayed as much as her ankle dislocated in his hands, but it was far preferable to what had been about to occur. Neither the performers nor the spectators had any time to celebrate the seeming miracle, however; Mary's weight, added to that of her husband, was the last thing that was needed to snap his own wires. No sooner had her fall stopped than it began again, and this time there was no one to catch her.

Everything shuddered to a halt when they hit the ground. After a second someone in the stands screamed, breaking the spell and initiating a cacophony of cries and motion. Dick didn't notice; his entire world had closed down until the only things he could see were the two broken figures in the center of the ring, the dirt beneath them darkening with blood. Even in death, they were the centerpiece of the show, as the spotlight that had followed their ghastly descent out of sheer habit remained trained on them, its operator having dashed away to vomit.

The boy tiptoed out without realizing what he was doing, nothing in his ears but a steady hum of disbelief, and fell to his knees between them. _Mom. Daddy. Please..._ If he could have ignored the grotesque twist in his mother's long, stately neck, or erased the resigned horror in his father's expression, he might have pretended that they were just sleeping. _No. This is a dream. This is a bad, bad dream,_ he told himself. He'd had a similar nightmare a few weeks earlier, he remembered desperately; it had stuck with him not only due to its vividness but also because sleep terrors weren't things he normally suffered from. _It's just…just another dream,_ his mind flailed against reality. _In a minute dad will wake me up, and tell me it's okay, and that breakfast is ready, and then I'll go help feed the elephants and we'll load up and go, because this can't be real, we're leaving town tomorrow morning and it must…it must just be…just be a dream…_

But there'd been no blood in his visions, not leaching out from under them and certainly not beginning to drop slowly from his father's agape lips. Those steady tears of crimson were what restored the rest of the tent to his shocked young mind, and as his sense of hearing returned he turned to the other figure. His fingers stretched out to graze the still-shining locks he'd watched her comb out less than an hour earlier. _Mommy. Please…_

"Dick!" Kind but desperate hands jerked him away. He fought weakly – _they'll wake up, just give it a minute, they have to, please, no, no, no, nooo… - _but it was no use. Pop Haly's grip, hard from years of work but gentle by nature, spun him around. The boy craned his head over his shoulder, trying to keep his eyes on the bodies, still waiting for the magical moment when they were sure to leap up and announce that it had all been a terrible joke.

"Dick, look at me," Pop Haly begged. Like every other member of his circus present in the big top at the moment of impact, he had stared incredulously until a shriek broke him out of his stupor. Only then had the older man noticed the child slipping out to where his parents lay twisted on the earth, and he'd ignored the half-dozen people already clamoring for directions from him in order to give pursuit. _No one could have survived that fall. He shouldn't be near them like this. It's too much._ "Talk to me. Please." _Scream, cry, __something__. Anything. _

"Vhat has happened?" a heavily accented voice came up behind the crouching man. "…Oh…Zahn…Miry…no…"

"…Soraya," the director spoke to her without looking. "I need you to take Dick out of here. I have to sort everything out, and I don't want him left alone."

"Yes. Reeshurd…dahlink…" She knelt before him, her thin, be-ringed fingers replacing Pop Haly's thick, plain ones on his shoulders. "Come vith me, mm?" She steered him away, directing his lifeless steps to a low crate in the prep area of the tent. Here, out of sight of both the quickly departing audience and the remains, she pulled him up into her lap and held him, rocking back and forth in the way that had calmed him since the day he'd been born. "You vill be fine, dahlink," she assured him gently. "You vill live vell. I have seen eet…" _But I did not see zhis,_ she lamented to herself. _I failed you, Miry…I failed all three ov you…_

In her arms, Dick drifted, the thuds that had marked his parents' departures from life repeating in his head and drowning out the words of the fragrant woman trying to comfort him. Coherent thought escaped him entirely; all he knew was that there was something sorrowful clawing behind his ribs, tearing his heart to shreds. Despite the awful pain, he couldn't seem to manage to cry out. Instead, he allowed himself to be cradled by his mother's closest confidant, the fortune-teller who had been as an aunt to him for as long as he remembered, and for a while knew nothing other than the agony eating him up from the inside out.

Back in the center of the ring, the circus director assumed command, shoving his shaking hands into his pockets to hide their instability. "Clear everyone out," he directed those of his people who had gathered in a mournful semi-circle around the bodies. "Make sure the police have been called. Goro," he called hoarsely after one of the roustabouts, "bring me a tarp or something." Left alone for a moment, he dropped to the same spot that Dick had occupied a short while before, his knees creaking. _Johnny… _ His hand hovered over the dead man's disfigured shoulder, not quite daring to touch him. _…I'm so sorry. I should have just agreed, but it was so wrong, and so dangerous, and I didn't think…I thought they'd come after __me__, if they even followed through. I never dreamt they would target anyone else…oh, god…_

The deaths of the two performers that he had loved as if they were his own children had to be tied to the threats he'd received only twenty four hours before, he was certain. John had been born into a respected line of aerial artists, and since joining Haly's Circus just over a decade earlier he had allowed no member of his family, blood-related or otherwise, to risk their lives on wires that he hadn't checked personally. _If there had been anything wrong with them, he would never have let anyone go up tonight,_ the older man knew. _And for __two__ wires to break like that…no. Someone did something. I don't know what, but…oh, Johnny, if I'd just known!_

A few tears ran down his cheeks as he turned to the other figure. _And sweet, wonderful Mary. You made him so happy, you and Dick…You were the only one for him. The way you came along with us when we left town, only three days after you'd met him…I never thought you'd do that. What college girl from a good family runs away with a traveling circus? Johnny has…had…charm, that's for sure, but it still surprised me when he got you like he did. I'm so sorry. You were the best thing that ever happened to this troupe, even before you turned out to be such a natural in the air. Part of me is glad the two of you died together,_ he sniffed, _but Dick…I'll do whatever I can for him, Mare, Johnny-boy, you know I will, but…oh, god, __why__?_ Biting back a sob, he moved the woman's hand over to rest on top of her husband's. _…There. That's as it should be, at least._

"…Mr. Haly?"

He stood, feeling much, much older than his fifty-some years, and turned slowly around, expecting to see a policeman. Finding the guest he'd struggled to seat earlier instead, he shook his head. "Mr. Wayne," he choked. "I'm…I'm terribly sorry that this happened the night you came. I…this has never happened before," he faltered. "They…if you could have seen…" Goro was approaching with a bundle under one arm, and he broke off. "…Excuse me, I need to cover them," he apologized, accepting the tarpaulin. "Goro, would you-" He was about to say 'help me,' but before he could finish the distraught roustabout saw what had been done with the deceased couple's hands, burst into loud, raucous tears, and fled.

"Please, allow me to lend a hand."

Haly stared at the billionaire. "…I'm sorry?"

"You need help with the tarp, don't you?"

"I…yes," he shook himself. "Thank you." Once they'd draped it over the worst of the mess, they walked a short distance away. "…Mr. Wayne, I'm confused."

"About what, Mr. Haly?"

"About…why you're still here, when everyone else has left."

"…The boy. He was theirs, right?" He already knew the answer, of course - the Flying Graysons had been billed as a family act on every flyer and poster he'd seen on the way in – but it was a good segue. After the adults had fallen, half of Bruce's attention had been taken up examining everything he could from his seat, certain that he'd just witnessed the end result of a brutal crime. The other half had gone straight to the child, all too familiar with the wretched denial and loss that had to be coursing through him as he stepped away from the ladder and minced out into the ring to join his parents. _…What happens to him now? _he found himself wondering as he waited for the circus director's response.

"Yes. He's theirs," was whispered back finally. "Why?"

"…I have a foundation, part of which is dedicated to helping survivors of violence," he replied smoothly. "I'd like to lend any aid that I can to him."

Haly turned to him, eyes narrowing. "…How do you know this was…violence?" he queried suspiciously. _Are you with them? Were you part of this? _

Bruce's face remained calm. "The Graysons were obviously professionals. I don't imagine that they would have let their equipment degrade to the point of a double failure, do you? The only other thing I can think of is that someone tampered with the act."

"…No, you're right. Johnny would never have let something like this happen. He…he always checked the wires himself…" _Don't jump to conclusions,_ he warned himself. _If this man can help Dick somehow, then you need to do everything you can to keep him on your side._

"C.C. Haly?" a new voice interjected. Both men swiveled to find two police officers approaching.

"That's me," the director took a deep, steadying breath. "As you can see, we've…we've had a tragedy here tonight."

"Yeah, that's what we heard. Bruce Wayne, right?" the cop doing all the talking directed at the billionaire.

"Yes."

"Didn't know you were into the circus."

"Everyone needs a distraction now and again, officer. I stayed after the others to offer assistance from the Wayne Foundation. For the child," he clarified. _And to try and learn what I could about the crime, _he didn't add_. _He couldn't do much more than observe, not as Bruce Wayne at least, but that was still more than he could have done had he tried to run home and come back as Batman. _They'd have had everything half cleaned up by then,_ he knew, _and that would be useless to me._

"A kid's involved? Dead, or…?"

"No," Pop Haly shot him a look. "He's being taken care of by another member of the circus, a dear friend of Mary Grayson's."

"Get CPS out here," the policeman directed his partner.

"CPS?" the older man frowned.

"Child Protective Services," Bruce explained the acronym, his mouth also turning down. "…Is that necessary?"

"Kid has to be booked," the officer shrugged, flipping open his notebook. "…Look, I'm sorry he's an orphan, all right?" he snapped, seeing the dark looks both civilians were leveling at him. "But I've got procedures I have to follow. So tell me what happened."

_I hate that word,_ Bruce fumed as the director began to explain haltingly. _'Orphan.' People like you who throw it around so easily clearly have no idea what it feels like to have the most important people in your world suddenly ripped away from you. _His displeasure faded somewhat as he listened to the part of the story he hadn't been present for. _…So someone wanted something out of these people. This seems like a pretty extreme response, though. Busting a couple of kneecaps, that's a normal reaction to a 'no'; killing two people who probably had no idea what was going on, that's extreme. So if the wires __were__ tampered with, who did it? And why make an example out of these two?_

"Okay, well, we're going to have to take a look at those wires that broke, then, and talk to anyone who might have seen anything," the officer's comment broke through his musing. "Look, Mr. Wayne, not to be rude, but there's not really any reason for you to be around while we do this, so…I don't know, maybe your organization could contact CPS in the morning?"

"Having a detailed understanding of what happened will help determine whether or not we can assist the boy," the billionaire countered. "The more I can tell my case managers right off, the faster we can get him what he needs. I'm sure none of us want the child – I'm sorry, Mr. Haly, what's his name?"

"Dick. Well…Richard, but no one actually calls him that other than Soraya."

"Who?" the cop frowned.

"The point is," Bruce overrode the question, "I'm sure none of us want Dick to be left in the social services limbo any longer than absolutely necessary."

"I _get_ that, Mr. Wayne, and it's very noble of you, but if there's something to this threat thing then this is an active investigation. Which means it wouldn't be so good if you saw something important and let it slip to your latest lady-love during pillow talk."

_Who in their right mind considers murders they've witnessed to be pillow talk? _"Well, if that's your only concern, Officer…Caruso," he peered at his nametag as he pulled his cell phone out, "I'll just call the Commissioner and get permission from him. Will that be sufficient for you?" He was bluffing – he couldn't imagine Gordon responding to his request to remain at a crime scene in order to do a little charity work with a resounding cheer – but it worked, and Caruso backed down.

"…Fine. Just make sure you run anything you're going to submit to your organization through us first, and keep your mouth shut about what you see otherwise, all right?" With that, he stomped past them and towards the covered bodies, still muttering something under his breath.

"…Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes, Mr. Haly?"

"…Can you really do something for Dick? Really?"

Meeting his gaze, Bruce realized just how worried the older man was for the boy's well-being. _Dick's not completely alone in the world,_ he decided, _although I know that's how it feels to him right now_. _This person cares for him, and I'm sure there are several others in the troupe who would be happy to take him in. He has a family here. The problem is going to be getting CPS to realize that._ "…I'm going to do everything I can, Mr. Haly," he swore. "I promise you that."


	2. Chapter 2

An hour later, after the broken wires had been examined by the police and the bodies had been removed, the attention of everyone remaining in the big top was drawn by the sound of a shouting female voice. "…That's Soraya," Pop Haly's eyes widened as he recognized the butchered English the fortune teller produced when she was truly upset. He rushed away from where the bloodied earth was being bagged for disposal, Officer Caruso and Bruce close on his heels as he headed for the rear of the tent. There they found a small crowd standing around two women locked in a battle of wills. Close beside the more esoterically dressed of the pair was Dick, his head bowed, arms wrapped around his waist as his fate was argued over.

"_No von_ eez take him!" Soraya protested, waving her hands and throwing her words into the face of the stout social worker before her. "Zis his _home_!" Several people in the audience they'd gathered nodded firmly, their postures clearly unhappy.

"Ma'am, I understand that you're upset, but he _can't _stay here," the other woman replied.

"Vy not? Because iz circus? You tink ve're _dirty_, iz zat it?"

The CPS agent didn't look up from her clipboard, although her eyebrow did arch. "…That's not for me to decide, ma'am."

"Excuse me," Pop Haly wove through the spectators. "Soraya, stop," he touched her arm as she prepared to unleash a tirade. "I'm sorry, we're all very upset right now," he apologized to the stranger. "What's going on?"

"I'm taking the boy with me. He'll be placed in a mass care facility until his case can be sorted out."

"I…I'm sorry? You're…taking him? I don't understand. Like Soraya said, he has a home here. There's no reason to take him away."

Her eyes finally left her paperwork. "What's your name, sir?"

"C.C. Haly," he offered his hand. She ignored it, referencing her notes.

"…You own this circus?"

"Yes, ma'am," he confirmed, his hand dropping back to his side. "I do."

"And your first name…? Or is it just…C.C.?" she asked a bit derisively.

"Cornelius," he ground out, trying to smile. "Cornelius C. Haly."

"The middle initial stands for…?"

"It's just C., ma'am."

"Ahh," she smirked as if that told her something important about him. "What's the boy's full name, please, Mr. Haly?"

"I say alveady!" Soraya protested. "What, you tink I _lie_ to you?"

"His name is Richard John Grayson," Pop Haly waved the fortune teller back. "…With an 'a,' not an 'e,'" he corrected when she misspelled the family name.

She sighed, erased a letter, and rewrote it. "Fine. Well, I've already been told that he has no blood relations here. Is that correct?"

"…Yes, but-"

"Any blood relations _anywhere _that you know of?" she cut him off.

"No, but-"

"Okay, well, that makes it pretty clear. He's coming with me."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I still don't understand. Why can't he stay here?"

"Because he's a minor with no legal guardian-"

"_Ve_ vill care to heem! He iz ov _uz_!"

"Get her out of here!" Caruso directed angrily. Two other uniforms led Soraya around the corner, leaving Pop Haly shaking his head and many of his people exchanging dark looks.

"-and because your act is scheduled to leave town tomorrow morning," the social worker finished speaking. "The boy can't leave Gotham until the investigation is complete and a suitable guardian is found for him."

"…We'll stay over until then," he said with a wince. _It will all but bankrupt me, but…we're all he has left._

"You can't. Your permit expires tomorrow, from what I understand."

"I'll pay for a new one, or a renewal."

"It won't be enough, Mr. Haly," she spoke over the rumble of approval that washed through the crowd, which had now swelled to include virtually every member of the troupe, at the director's words. "The longest you'd be able to extend for would be an additional three days. This process could take weeks, months even. CPS is always backlogged, and given the family's…transitory history," she glanced around uncomfortably, "I imagine the search for any potential relatives will take even longer than usual."

Haly's shoulders slumped. _What can I do? I can't sit just outside of town for months and months on end. Even if we could find someplace to park all of our equipment, we have to perform in order to feed ourselves and the animals, and a circus is only welcome in any place for so long before the allure wears thin._ "…Isn't there anything we can do? Soraya's right, ma'am; he belongs with us."

"Yeah, he's ours!" someone in the back cried out.

"…Loyalties aside, Mr. Haly, no judge is going to give custody of an eight-year-old to a traveling circus, no matter how long you wait around for it to happen. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

"That's not fair. This is all he knows. Hasn't he lost enough today?" he asked plaintively, his feet shuffling as he argued.

"That's not my call to make. My job is to bring the boy into the custody of the state until such a time as a blood relative or other interested caretaking party can be found, and that's all I can do at this juncture."

"We _are_ an 'interested caretaking party!'" he protested.

"Which one of you?" she jabbed.

"…Well, if you need one person in particular, me," he replied. "I'll take him."

"And are you going to give up your circus, settle down, and put the boy into school in a stable home environment? And if so, how will you support him and yourself, since you'll have no reliable source of income and, I imagine, no prospects for gaining other employment?"

"I…give up the circus? But…" _The whole point is to keep him __with__ the circus, _he faltered. _And if I give up the circus, what happens to the others? The people I would trust to keep the show going are gone, and that's…that's the whole reason we're having this conversation._ He bit back a sob, not wanting to break in front of this stranger.

"Those are the first questions a judge would ask if I brought forward a petition to name you his guardian, Mr. Haly," she informed him. "I'm sorry."

"But if he doesn't stay with us…where will he go?"

"As I said, to a mass care facility for now. After that, there are several options. Again, not my decision to make. In any case, I have what I need, and it's late. I'll take the boy for tonight, then bring him back tomorrow morning to collect some of his personal effects once the police have finished with the family's…trailer," her cheek twitched. "So…" she turned to where Dick had been standing when Pop Haly interceded. "Where did he go?" Her eyes narrowed as they swept over the gathered troupe. "Who's hiding him? Officer," she turned to Caruso.

"All right, no games!" he announced. "Where's the kid? You can't hide him from CPS, that's kidnapping. A jailable offense," he added.

After several minutes, they finally ascertained that the boy was nowhere among the assembly. Soraya was brought back around along with her police escort, who swore that the fortune teller hadn't had any contact with the child since they'd removed her from the tent. Gathering what was going on and reading the concerned expressions being worn by her fellows, her ire sparked anew. "You _lost_ heem?!" she exploded at the social worker before turning to Pop Haly. "Zey cannot do zis ting! He vill be greatest ever! _You not let zem do zis ting!_" With that outburst, she collapsed, wailing the names of the dead aerialists and pounding her fists on the ground.

"Marnie, Lana, can you take her to her trailer?" Haly asked, covering his eyes with one hand so as to avoid looking at the spectacle. "Make her some tea, or…or something."

"_Miry vill make ze tea no more!"_ the woman on the ground screamed as kind hands pulled her to her feet and led her away.

Once a door had shut out amongst the tow-behinds, dampening her funereal ululations substantially, Caruso clapped his hands. "All right, let's spread out. If you _find_ him," he said firmly, "you _will_ hand him over. Anyone suspected of trying to hide him or telling him to run away will be pulled in for questioning and possible charges. Is that understood?"

Silence.

"I'm sure we'll all comply," Pop Haly answered finally, sending his people a weary glance. _We can't run from the police, not if we want to keep working. And we __have__ to keep working; we can't just become a bunch of fugitives, or charity cases. That's the last thing Johnny and Mary would have wanted their deaths to cause, and I don't intend to see it happen._ "Come on, everyone, let's find our missing boy."

As the crowd began to move, the circus director looked over to find the billionaire beside him. "…Mr. Wayne," he said, surprised. "I didn't realize you were still here. I thought you'd left during the…uproar," he euphemized.

"Bathroom break," Bruce fibbed. Realizing that everyone was riveted to the argument over the boy's immediate future, he'd slipped back to the main part of the tent and quickly examined the evidence. _…Acid?_ he'd frowned, peering at the broken ends of the wires. _No way to tell for sure without testing it back at the cave, although I don't know what else it could have been that wouldn't have been noticed during the set-up. _Finding a discarded candy wrapper near the stands, he'd carefully scooped up a few of the tiny, frayed shards of metal that had snapped from the main cords and tucked them into his pocket. _If it __was__ acid, there shouldn't be enough left on it to eat through that plastic. There wouldn't be any metal left if there were._

He'd rejoined the group just as they were realizing that Dick had vanished. _Well, I can hardly blame him for running away, if that's what he did,_ he'd thought. _As if seeing what he saw earlier tonight wasn't reason enough to flee, having everyone talk about him as if he wasn't even present would only have made it worse._ Setting his mouth firmly, he determined to join the search. _Hopefully he's just gone to his family's trailer, but… _ If he was outside, he stood a good chance of developing hypothermia; the early March air was far from warm, and when he'd last seen the child he was still clad only in his thin performance garb. _He's having the absolute worst night of his life. The least I can do is try and keep it from turning into the __last__ night of his life._

"Let's check the trailers," Haly suggested. "Everyone, the trailers, the animal pens, the sideshow tents, all of that first," he called out. "Max," he grabbed a burly strongman as he walked by, "go see if he's with the elephants. You know how he is."

"We will find him, Pop," the muscular figure said firmly. "He won't go far."

"…Thanks, Max," he patted his shoulder. Shaking his head, he turned back to Bruce and started towards the double row of tow-behinds sitting just outside of the bright aura that surrounded the big top. As they approached one midway down the line, the billionaire could make out chipped paint and a few dents alongside neat patches and brocade drapes. None of the portable little homes they passed were anywhere near new, but it was clear that they were cared for, and that fact was driven home when he followed the circus director inside the Grayson abode.

The stacked beds at the front of the compact space had their privacy curtains pulled back, revealing the faded but clean quilts that were tucked neatly over the mattresses. A pitted but well-scrubbed dining table extended a short distance from the wall, its bench cushions wrapped in bright tapestries that had obviously been added by the occupants. There wasn't a single crumb on the wedge of counter that served as a kitchen. To the left of the door was a tiny cubicle bathroom facing a shower, and Bruce had absolutely no doubt that both facilities were spotless. Beyond lay what had once been a full bedroom, now converted into storage. Costumes and regular clothing hung on one side; cabinets lined the other. A tiny folding table at the extreme rear held a few sewing implements and what looked like a pair of the boy's pants, a half-repaired hole evident in one knee. Above that hung a child's drawing of a show-outfitted elephant, carefully placed behind glass and given a place of pride on the wall.

As the billionaire took it all in, his stomach twisted in commiseration for the young boy who had to come back to this reminder of the lives that had ended tonight. Returning to the manor after his own parents had been killed had been bad enough; he could just imagine how it would feel to revisit such an intimately shared space as this one after a similar tragedy. _At least at home most of the downstairs is relatively impersonal,_ his lips pursed. _But every square inch of this place is an expression of the people who lived here. There's no escape from it._

"…He's not here," Pop Haly said slowly. "Dick?" he called out unnecessarily. _Where did you go? Maybe Max found you with Eleanor…please, please have gone to the elephants._

"Why don't we meet up with the others? Everyone should be about done checking the trailers, at least," Bruce advised, sensing the worry pouring off of the older man. "Someone may have already found him elsewhere."

"Max!" the circus director waved him over once they were outside. "Anything?"

"No, he wasn't with the elephants," the strongman shook his head. "I don't know…"

His face verging on panic, Haly turned to where others were now coming out of their own homes, all empty handed. "Anything?!" he cried out down the line. "Anyone?!" A chorus of 'no's' came back, everyone drawing in around the Grayson trailer in a concerned huddle. "Oh, god," the director sat down on the step and buried his face in his hands. _First Johnny and Mary, and now I've gone and let Dick disappear,_ he cried quietly. _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…this is all my fault…_

Soft whispers were exchanged amongst the gathered circus folk. Surveying them, Bruce noted that there didn't seem to be any other children around the boy's age. Several teenagers milled around, shooting nasty looks at the cops, and a couple of people held sleeping babies on their hips, but no other minors were evident. _Strange,_ he mused. _But then it's a somewhat small group, anyway…_

The contingent that had been searching the big top and the tents of the smaller acts approached, all of its members looking grim. "We didn't find him," one of them reported. "…He's not here, either?"

"No," Haly replied weakly.

"I even dug through the hay," the roustabout, Goro, reported miserably.

"He likes to hide in the hay," someone else nodded.

…_These people know each other, their habits, so well,_ Bruce marveled slightly. _They're just…their own community. And unless Gotham CPS has changed a lot since they used to harass Alfred about being a single man raising a child who wasn't a blood relation, they'll tear him right out of here without a second thought, just because they aren't stationary. It's not right, but…it's the law. Damn it!_

"Well, we need to search the fields, then," the social worker, whom no one had noticed approaching, announced. "He can't have gotten far, and I'm not leaving without him."

"All right, let's go, people," Caruso, who had come up with her, jumped in. "Grab a flashlight and stay within sight of one another and the camp. Holler if you find anything, and one of us," he gestured to the other uniformed figures milling about, "will come running."

_Let's be quick about it,_ Bruce wanted to add as everyone set off in different directions. _It's only going to get colder out as the night goes on, after all, and the last thing on his mind right now is taking care of himself. I can guarantee you that._

**Author's Note: Next chapter will have some cuddles!**


	3. Chapter 3

Wide, empty gray plains stretched out from the big top in all directions, and even with the entire troupe searching and calling out the missing child's name it was easy to find pockets of silence when the breeze blew just right. _This is no good,_ Bruce grimaced as he studied the tiny dots of light that marked the locations of the others. _We're too spread out. We could walk right past him._ He had overheard Caruso mentioning something to the social worker about calling in more support, but he hadn't seemed hopeful about getting it right away. _No surprise; there aren't exactly spare officers to pull off the streets of Gotham on a __good__ night, let alone in the middle of one that Batman isn't likely to make an appearance during._

The only bone that was thrown to their efforts was the presence of a full moon, which at least lent a gentle glow to the world. Surveying the huge fields, the billionaire could only shake his head. _If he's laying in the grass somewhere, the odds of us finding him are slim to none,_ he considered._ But if he headed for a landmark…_ His gaze fell on a gnarly, denuded maple that stood by itself at the far end of the tract. _…Kids like to climb trees, right? And he's probably one for heights, anyway, as a trapeze artist, so…it's worth a try._

The last hint of the circus disappeared behind a low swell as he approached the lone specimen. _There,_ a vague sense of relief washed over him as he spotted the boy perched on a thick limb some fifteen feet up. _…I don't know that anyone else would have seen you there, _he thought, his interest piqued. _You blended into the shadows very well, especially considering how bright that costume you're wearing is._

As he drew up to the tree, he saw the child's head turn towards him, watching warily. "…Hello," he greeted quietly, stopping a short distance away and keeping the light he'd borrowed from the circus director pointed at the dirt. _There's no need to make him nervous. He's already riled up, and he was slick enough to sneak away from the middle of a crowd and disappear into the night to begin with. If he starts to feel threatened, he might try and run. _The thought of tackling a kid who had just watched his parents die and then dragging him back to CPS made his stomach churn, so he shoved it away, concentrating instead on making it clear that he wasn't an enemy.

After a long moment of staring at one another, the young aerialist decided that the man wasn't an immediate threat and returned his attention to the vista that stretched out below. The billionaire looked, too, and couldn't help but appreciate the view. The cleared ground sloped away from them, ending in a thin strip of forest that marched down the remainder of the hill. At the bottom was another broad plain, its freshly turned loam devouring the light that hit it. A few bright pinpricks shone beyond that, here and there at first and then quickly accumulating and rising to form the downtown skyline of Gotham. The river glinted as it slid through the metropolis, looking healthier and fresher under the moonlight than Bruce had ever seen it during the day. It had been a long time since he had stepped back and considered his city as more than the sum of its parts, and doing so now stirred something in him. _…It really is beautiful from here,_ he thought with a mild shock. _I guess it's hard to remember the good qualities that something possesses when all it ever seems to show you is the bad. Huh._

They stayed like that for some time, both admiring the valley. The faintest trace of a shout for the boy whispered past, but neither reacted. As Bruce moved to lean against the base of the maple, a long-ago banished memory crept back into his consciousness. His eyes never left the brightness between him and the horizon as he began to speak. "…Where I live," he ventured quietly, "there's a great, big hill, taller than this one. If you climb all the way to the top, you can see the city, like this," he nodded to indicate the panorama. "Or at least, you used to be able to. The trees have probably gotten too tall now…" _They have to have, it's been twenty years since I was up there last,_ he calculated_. _"…When I was a boy, my father took me to the top of that hill and showed me the lights. There weren't as many then, I'm sure, but…it all seemed even bigger than it does now. I guess age is probably responsible for that." _It seemed flawless then,_ he thought. _I know better now, of course, but…tonight, like this, I can almost pretend that it's perfect again. If I hadn't witnessed what happened earlier, maybe I could trick myself into believing it, if only for a second…_

"…Someone killed them, didn't they?" The threat he'd overheard coming from Pop Haly's office after yesterday's show, the double broken wires tonight…Dick may only have been eight, but he could put two and two together. _They were murdered. My parents…were murdered. __Why? __ They never hurt anybody…_

The steadiness of the small voice over his head surprised Bruce. Looking up, he met his eyes, wide and serious even at a distance. "…Yes," he answered gravely. _There's no point in lying to him, although I do have to wonder how he knows._ This wasn't the time to question him on that fact, however; to even attempt it would be cruel. "Someone did. I'm sorry."

He'd already known, of course, but that fact didn't keep fresh tears from running down his already-wet cheeks. _…He said he was sorry differently than the others did,_ he pondered, gazing out towards the river again and trying to think of anything other than the alien flexing his parents' bodies had done when they hit the dirt. Everyone who had stopped and given their own sobbing condolences while he sat numbly on Tanti Soraya's lap had been sincere, he knew, but… _None of them really understood. They were sorry, but…all they knew how to be sorry for were their…their deaths. Not the how or why behind them._ He frowned slightly. _…So how come this stranger seems to get it, when people who knew them for years don't?_

His answer came without being asked for. "…I know you don't know me, Dick," the man on the ground went on, "but I know how you feel right now. I remember how it was, the first night after my parents were…well. After they were gone." _And I at least had Alfred,_ he grimaced. _CPS didn't dare to even try and take me from him right away, not with the media sniffing around like they were. They won't have any compunctions about removing you from what you know, though; I have no doubt about that._

"…Were you a kid, too?"

"Yes. A little younger than you are." There was a scraping sound, and Bruce tilted his head upwards just in time to see the boy leap from the tree. _Christ!_ Before he could react, however, the falling child grasped another limb, spun around it once, and then dropped to the ground, rolling as he landed and popping to his feet a dozen or so feet away. Brushing a few splinters off of his palms, he turned and came back, stopping at the billionaire's side.

"Does it ever stop hurting like this?" he asked in a high whisper, his face begging for an affirmative answer. _You know. You've been there. Tell me what's next. Tell me…tell me how to go on._

_I wish I could tell you that it will stop, kiddo. I really, really do._ "…It hasn't for me."

"…Oh." He bowed his head and hugged himself tightly. Seeing him shiver, Bruce shrugged off his wool sport coat and placed it gently around his shoulders. "Thanks. Won't…won't you be cold?"

"No, I'm warm enough," he answered. _Polite as hell. Alfred would like that._ He shook himself. _…What has __that__ got to do with it? Alfred's not likely to ever meet him, so why would I even think that?_ _Pull yourself together and get him back to the others._ As he observed the child, though, he couldn't bear to suggest that they make their way to where a social worker with police backing was waiting to cart him away. _The one thing I wanted the most that night was for someone who understood to stay with me,_ he recalled painfully. _…No one where he's going to be taken is likely to be able to offer him that. So maybe…maybe we can wait just a little bit longer before we go back. _

"…You have to take me to the police now, don't you?" was asked miserably.

"Eventually, yes," he nodded.

A pixie face rose, its dark brows knitted. "…'Eventually?'"

"Yes. But…not necessarily right _now_, if you don't want. If you want to talk," he offered. "Or if you just want to keep looking at the lights for a little while."

"…I'd like that," he nodded. "Um...is it okay if we sit down?"

"Sure," Bruce agreed.

Having received permission, the boy curled up on the sandy soil at the base of the tree, then watched as the man joined him. There was a long silence as they adjusted themselves to each other's presence. Finally, a soft question was broached. "What…what happened to your parents?"

The billionaire froze. _I should have expected that, but…what do I say?_ Reflecting, he realized that he'd never been straight out _asked_ before. Everyone he interacted with either already knew the basics of the story, didn't care, or would never dare to inquire directly. "They…they were killed," he explained unevenly. "It was a long time ago, but…"

"…But it doesn't go away."

"Right. It doesn't go away." A sudden weight on his elbow made him look down. The boy had reached over with one hand, and was now gripping his arm tightly as he looked sorrowfully upwards at him.

"I'm sorry."

"…Yeah, I know. So am I." He paused. "For both of us."

"Yeah…" He bit his lip, struggling to hold everything back. _He's so nice, and…and he gets it. And…they're gone, they're __really__ gone, and I just don't know what's supposed to happen now, because they weren't supposed to leave me like that… _His walls failed. Burying his face against his knees, he raised his arms to cover his head as he broke down.

Bruce gulped heavily as he watched the sobbing child out of the corner of his eye. _Um…shit. What…I should do something, I know, but…_ He was comfortable with physicality only when it came as a violent blow, a business-like handshake, or a bout of necessary intimacy with the socialite of the month; anything outside of those three forms of contact was foreign to him. _Pretty much anyone in the world would be better at this than me,_ he thought as he patted the boy's back gingerly. _I brought this on myself, though. I should have just called for the police when I found him…but how could I, knowing as I do what he's feeling tonight? How could I walk away from him like that?_

He'd hoped that his distant consoling would be sufficient, but he discovered just how misguided that idea was when the slight figure turned and dove into him, dampening his shoulder with tears. Clever, calloused fingers curled into the throat of his shirt, gripping tight. At a loss as to how he should respond, the billionaire just continued his light tapping and tried to tune out the keening wails that were making his eyes smart. _Jesus, did I sound this awful afterwards? How did Alfred put up with it? I don't even __know__ this kid, and this is torture…_

"'M s-sorry," Dick moaned suddenly. "It's j-just that you und-d-der_stand_…"

_Understand…Oh. Oh, god. I wish I could have said that, at his age…_ Something snapped within him, and his arms wrapped around the boy of their own volition, dragging him close and holding him there. _What am I __doing_? he boggled at himself. _…He's just a child,_ another voice spoke up. _Who else is going to do this for him? No one, probably, once he's taken from the circus, and even if he were to be left with them, he doesn't seem to think any of them will…will understand._ He closed his eyes as a few drops of hot liquid rolled to his chin. _I get it, kiddo. I know. I know it hurts, and I know __how__ it hurts, too. And I'm so, so sorry that you have to wrestle with that pain. No one – especially not a child – should have to feel the way you do tonight. I remember. I remember. _

They sat like that for a very long time. When they had both calmed, the thought of having the boy move back to his spot flickered through Bruce's mind. _…No. This…this isn't so bad. I thought it would be, but…it really isn't._ The question of why that was plagued him as a tousled dark head rested against his chest, its owner giving a delicate sniffle before going quiet. _…He ran away from an entire camp of people who know him, and who knew his parents, and ended up crying with a complete stranger,_ he mused, trying to find an answer. _I don't know for certain that he didn't let some of it out while I was busy with Haly, but judging from the violence of the fit he just had it seems like a safe bet that he didn't. He cried with me rather than them because…because I __understand__._ He lifted one hand just long enough to dry his own cheeks, then returned it to where it had been resting on a thin, goosebumped arm. _I suppose that's the reason I cried with him, too..._

"…That lady isn't going to let me stay with the circus, is she?"

The query drew a deep sigh. "…I really doubt that you'll have that option, Dick."

"But…what will happen, then? I mean…I don't have anywhere to go."

"You'll go to a…a _mass care facility,_" he spit out the distasteful words the social worker had used, "for a little while. Then they'll try to find someone to take you in, I guess."

"Is that what happened to you?"

"…No. My situation was…different." _And that's saying the least._

"…Oh." He didn't speak for a moment. _I wish __you__ could…no, I can't say that. Don't even think that. He's just a really nice guy who understands stuff that no one else does, he wouldn't want…well. He's just a nice guy, and that's all. Kind of sad, but…nice. _"Do you think…do you think anyone will…want me?"

The fearful tone in his voice made Bruce's throat tight. _Judging from the statistics in this city…no. _"You're a good kid," he said instead. "I'm sure someone will." He glanced down to find the boy giving him a look. "…What?"

"How do you know I'm 'a good kid?' I don't even know your _name_."

_Insightful much?_ "Call it a hunch. Besides," he countered, "you don't know my name, but we've been talking for…" he glanced at his watch, "almost an hour, so..."

"…I had a hunch, too, I guess," the boy shrugged. "You're not like the others."

_…Kiddo, you have __no__ idea. _A sudden shout at the top of the nearest rise interrupted them. "I'm afraid we can't hide any longer," Bruce told him quietly. _I kind of wish we could, though._

"Yeah…"

They stood slowly. "Well, it's about _time_," the social worker grimaced as she hustled up, several others coming close behind her. "You can't run away like that when you get upset," she lectured Dick immediately. He recoiled, pushing in against the billionaire's leg as he automatically sought protection from the harpy of the law currently beaming her flashlight into his face.

"Excuse me," Bruce frowned at her. "That's uncalled for. He was distraught, and he fled a loud environment for some solitude. Considering what he's been through tonight, it was a perfectly natural reaction."

Her torch was directed upwards, seeking him out. "And who are you to…oh," she trailed off. "Mr. Wayne. Officer Caruso told me you were…around. I take it _you_ found the boy?"

"Yes. I did."

"Well." They stared at one another for a moment. "…_Well?" _her voice went up.

"Well _what_?" the billionaire retorted.

"If you would release him, please, so that I can get on with my chore?"

_Your __chore__? _Bruce felt his gut flare. At the same time, he looked down and discovered that his hand had clasped itself to the child's shoulder. Everyone was staring at it expectantly other than Dick, whose eyes stayed distrustfully on the CPS agent. _…I'm really sorry about this,_ the billionaire's lips tightened as he loosened his fingers. _I wouldn't want to go with her, either._

Feeling the pressure at the top of his arm relent, the young acrobat directed his attention to the man who had held him through his first deluge of grief. _…He doesn't like it, either,_ he read the pursed look on his face. _But I don't think he can do anything about it._ "Will…will I see you again, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, repeating the name the woman had used a moment before.

"I don't know," he said, looking away. _He's sharp,_ he noted. _He caught my name, at least, which is more than most could do on a night like this. Resilient, too, then…Shit. Stop it. This is pointless. You've done what you can, short of throwing a little help his way through the Foundation. Let it go. Let __him__ go. _

Dick's mouth quivered as a rock dropped into the pit of his stomach. _…Oh. I think…I think that's a no. _"Well…goodbye, then. And…thank you," he whispered before shuffling over to the social worker, who made a little _tsk_ing sound and began to hurry him back towards the circus grounds.

"Wait," Bruce ordered roughly before they had gone more than a few steps. _Where are you going to take him?_

"Oh, for heaven's sake," the woman halted, rolling her eyes in annoyance. "I have work to do, you know, Mr. Wayne."

He ignored her completely. _I don't know what I'm doing. This is insane. Stop it, you fool,_ he chastised himself as he strode to where the boy had turned back around. _There's just one more thing,_ he argued._ He doesn't deserve the nightmares, and maybe…just __maybe__, if I say the right thing...maybe with the right support, knowing that someone else understands…maybe I can spare him that extra pain. _He dropped to one knee before the child, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and looked straight into his eyes, his brain glitching for a second as it noted how close in hue they were to his own. "…Have a dreamless sleep, Dick," he managed finally. "No nightmares. Nothing. Okay?"

…_I don't think he'd say that unless he knew what kinds of dreams I'm in for,_ he swallowed hard. _And…and I'll bet he only knows that because he's had them, too. _He cocked his head, seeing something sad but hopeful glimmering in the man's gaze. _…He said it hasn't stopped hurting him, even though it must have been a long time ago now…maybe he __still__ has them. That's…that's so awful, to have suffered that long._ "…You too, Mr. Wayne," he answered, managing a tiny, grateful smile. "Dreamless sleep for both of us."


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling the car into its spot in the garage, Bruce shifted into park and removed the key from the ignition. Then he just sat, staring down at the emblem embossed on the center of the steering wheel. _…I must be losing my goddamn mind._

The circus had been held out on the very edge of Gotham jurisdiction, near where the municipal line for Newtown cut through. As such, it had taken him nearly an hour to drive around the city and up to the manor, and he had wrangled with himself the entire way. _They're taking him from everything he knows. The kids who go into this city's system don't tend to come out okay on the far end, not unless they get picked up by good parents quickly. And if he isn't one of those lucky few, how long before Batman's sending him off to jail? Five years? Ten? He doesn't deserve that. None of them do, but…this wasn't his fault. It wasn't even his __parents__' faults, if it turns out that this was all tied back to the protection racket Haly mentioned. _

…_But it's not my concern. I can still help him – the Foundation will pitch in, I'll make sure of it – but I can't give him a new family. Even if I could, why him? Why him, when there are so many other kids out there who need good homes? And who am I, anyway, with my reputation as a business-brilliant but otherwise idiotic playboy and the night hobbies of a suicidal maniac, to even be considering adopting a child?_ He paused, glaring so hard it was a miracle the air bag didn't go off. _…__Adopting a child?_ _Where the fuck did __that__ come from!?_

He breathed slowly, trying to calm himself. _ He got to me_. _I don't know if it was the thing with the view of the city, or that I'd just seen his parents be murdered right along with him, or all that damn precociousness that just leaks out of his ears, but…something got to me. And that's…that's not good._

Every move that he made, in all of his guises, was calculated. After years of practice, he'd gotten very, very good at dodging injury, financial, emotional, and physical. Bruce Wayne, entrepreneur, utilized the abilities of his staff and his own raw talent to avoid the mistakes that had brought other mega-corporations to their knees in recent years. 'Brucie,' socialite extraordinaire, skillfully navigated the dangerous territory of upper-crust husband hunters by tactfully avoiding long-term entanglements. Batman, elite vigilante, trained both his body and mind constantly to reduce the odds of being incapacitated or killed in battle. There were unpredictable elements in all three of his fields of mastery, of course, but for the most part he had long ago figured out how to keep from getting hurt.

And then tonight had happened, leaving him at war with himself as to what was next. The logical step – the _calculating_ step – was to leave things be, let the boy go into the system, and hope that he would come out okay. The problem was that while he knew that was the _smart_ thing to do, he couldn't help but question whether it was the _right_ thing to do. Even worse, reason and morals didn't seem to be the only combatants on the field, and that downright scared him. _Emotions __can't__ enter into this,_ he instructed himself firmly. _At least, no more than they already have._

…_I wasn't prepared for him. How could I have been prepared for him? _He had no answer for that, but it didn't really matter; the damage was done. He ached with commiseration for the boy, more deeply even than he occasionally did for other particularly innocent victims of the crimes his dark alter ego worked to stop. As if that weren't enough, the ache had been growing ever since he saw the child being rushed into the CPS agent's old sedan. Those wide blue eyes had stared out the window directly at him as the car pulled away, and he'd felt the seed of…something…being planted as he looked right back. _Me__. So many others, people he's probably known since he was born, were right there. He could have looked at any of them, __should__ have looked at any of them…but he picked me. _

Shaking his head and climbing out of the vehicle finally, he felt something shift in his pocket. _…I can't give him a good home,_ he thought, _for a lot of reasons, but…I __can__ find out who took his parents from him, and put them away. _That, at least, was something every side of the other argument could agree on.

"Master Wayne," Alfred met him in the foyer. "I was beginning to worry." _You never stay out this late as a civilian,_ he mused. _…Dare I think that you may have actually had a pleasurable evening?_ "The show was enjoyable, I hope." A tiny line appeared between the butler's eyebrows as Bruce sat down heavily on the entry bench and began to remove his shoes. "…Shall I retrieve your jacket from the car, sir?"

"…No," the billionaire said slowly. "It isn't in there." _He still had it on. I'm surprised that wench of a public servant didn't make him give it back; it's not like she gave him the chance to go get anything other than his costume to wear. Well, __good__, then; it's cold out tonight, and she seems like one who will keep the heat off to save gas unless he starts turning blue. He's going to need the coat._

_That's extremely odd. You haven't lost an article of clothing in years, at least not like this. _"You're rather pale, Master Wayne," the Englishman noted, his hopes that his charge might have had a few semi-normal hours evaporating. "Has something happened? Are you feeling unwell?"

"Yes to both, Alfred."

"…I'm afraid I'm rather lost, sir."

"So am I." Catching sight of the look in the older man's eyes, he sighed. _I'm worrying him. _"…It's nothing," he waved away.

_I'm not an idiot, young man. _"I don't believe you."

The statement was flat and to the point, and it didn't surprise Bruce in the least._ …Yeah, I should have known better than that, even at two in the morning._ "No one's forcing you to, Alfred," he responded.

_And now petulance? It's been some time, but very well. _"Quite right. In that case, sir, won't you be so kind as to enlighten me as to the no doubt wondrous sights you beheld this evening? It's been many years since I witnessed a good circus, but I enjoyed them in my time."

The words were polite, but his tone was ice, and the billionaire had to suppress a shiver. _You never miss a thing, do you, old man?_ "…You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"You're troubled, sir. That being the case, I'm afraid that I _can't_ let it go."

He handed his shoes over, and the heart of the matter slipped out. "…There was a death this evening. Two."

"…Oh?" the butler asked quietly. "Were you involved somehow, or…?" _Having to give a statement could certainly have kept you late,_ he considered, _but this seems more deep-seated than a mere witnessing of a tragedy._

"Not at first."

"…'Not at first,' Master Wayne?" Alfred repeated incredulously as he set the oxfords aside to be shined later. _What on earth does __that__ mean?_

"The equipment for the trapeze act was tampered with," he revealed, remaining hunched over with his fingers on his temples. "Two of the performers were killed." He paused. "…They left a child behind. A young boy. An…incredible young boy…" Pressing in on the sides of his head, he began to rub in slow circles. _Why did I say that? 'Incredible?' I don't even know this kid!_ He frowned. _Dick. I don't even know…Dick. Calling him 'kid' makes me sound like Caruso, or worse,_ he shuddered, _like the social worker._

"This occurred during the show, I take it, sir?"

"Yeah. He was right there, just…just a few dozen feet away. He saw it all, Alfred."

…_And naturally, he reminded you of yourself. Bloody hell, it had to be a double murder, didn't it? No wonder you seem a bit of a mess…_ "Why don't you come into the den?" he suggested softly. "Perhaps you can fill me in in greater detail there."

…_He's right. I need to talk this out. If nothing else, maybe it will help me figure out what the hell's going on inside my head…_ "Fine. Sure."

"I'll just fix you some coffee first, shall I?" _I rather doubt that you'll be getting much sleep tonight; the caffeine will come in handy._

"Yeah, that would be good," he nodded, realizing suddenly that he was intensely thirsty after a number of hours with nothing to drink. Rising, he headed down the hallway to the den and dropped into his usual recliner. Alfred appeared less than a minute behind him, bearing a tray. "…Did you already have that made?" the billionaire arched an eyebrow.

"I may have had a slight inkling that it would be desired," he answered as he handed over a steaming cup and proceeded to sit on the couch. Settled in for what he expected might be a long haul, he gave his charge an expectant look. "…Well, sir?"

"Well…" He launched slowly into a full recap of the events of the evening, from his nearly-late arrival at the show to his discovery of the boy high up in a tree and the talk that had followed. "…I don't know what happened out there tonight, Alfred," he admitted. "But…part of me didn't want him to get into that car with the CPS agent."

"I don't quite take your meaning, Master Wayne," the Englishman asked for elucidation.

"…He should stay with the circus. Those people care for him – you should have seen them mobilize when they realized he was missing – and it's at least the world that he knows."

"Perhaps the Foundation's lawyers can be of assistance in helping him remain with the troupe?"

"No," he shook his head. "That's not the sense I got from the social worker. She…she seemed absolutely positive that he'll _never_ be allowed to stay with them. And if he goes into the system…"

_Where are you going with this? _Setting his cup aside, Alfred leaned forward. "…What is it exactly that you're trying to tell me?"

"I was thinking we should…I mean, I think _I_ should…well…he needs a home, and if they won't let him stay with the circus…I was just thinking…maybe…"

"Bruce…" the Englishman paused, biting back a sigh as he tried to determine how best to point out the numerous flaws in that idea. "Think about what you're saying. How will you juggle everything, _plus_ a child who has recently been through a highly emotional event? Your business and social concerns aside, what about your night work?" _Never mind the fact that you still have entire days when you lock yourself in your study or the cave and simply refuse to come out,_ he let his look relay._ I know you __say__ you're working, and I've no doubt that you do get copious amounts done, but we both know it's your substitution for grieving. Twenty years, and despite every possible effort having been made you're still stuck in that holding pattern…That's no environment for a similarly wounded child to be surrounded by._

"I know, I know!" he protested. "…I know. I don't know, Alfred. Part of me sounds like you. A big part of me. And I know that there are a dozen very good arguments as to why I should _never_...well. You know. Kids. But…" Dick's words came back to him, and he put them to work. "…But he _understands_," he breathed.

"Understands _what_?"

_Oh, god, everything, it seemed like. _"…A lot more than any normal eight-year-old would. And that's my point; he's not normal, I don't think, at least not in some ways. But…he _is_ familiar. There were moments out there tonight when…when it almost felt like I was talking to myself." He hadn't realized it at the time, but once he'd said as much he knew that it was true. "I know where this could go for him, because I've been there. But there's something…I don't know, _different_ about him. He…I said something to him, right before he was taken away by CPS."

"And what was that, sir?" the butler inquired. _This is insanity. You have it in you to be a good father, of that I'm certain, but there are so many storm clouds between that part of you and rest of the world… It would take an immense amount of brightness to burn away so much as a portion of the horrid fog you've let build for two decades, and even then I don't know that it would be enough._

"I told him to have a dreamless sleep. And…" the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, "…and he said 'you, too.' But…he damn near smiled when he said it. It took a lot of effort, I could tell that much, but the point is, he managed it. He _smiled_ at me, and…" A tiny look of wavering happiness appeared on his face as the memory of that pointed little face shoved away the naysaying thoughts that had plagued him the entire way home. "…and I've never felt a connection quite like that before, Alfred. I can't explain it."

…_Good lord. You…you're all but smiling yourself. __Genuinely__, not that fake monstrosity you put on for the girls,_ the butler boggled. For all that he loved it, however, he knew that there was still the problem of Bruce's internal defenses to be dealt with. _You smile now, but how long will it last? I know you, Master Wayne, and if there is anything in this world that you fear it is once more experiencing the level of emotional pain you were served a double helping of as a child. You say that you've 'never felt a connection quite like that before,' and I fear that I know where that connection will lead if you follow it. You're affected right now, that much is obvious; he got to you somehow. Heaven only knows how he managed it, since no one else ever has to my knowledge, but the point is that if an hour of talk and tears penetrated the walls you've spent two decades building, a few days will have you ceding the castle. _

_It would be an excellent thing for you, if you could somehow manage to let yourself love again. Perhaps,_ he considered wistfully, _the best thing I've ever seen. I would gladly lead the charge for this boy if I could honestly believe that there won't be a terrible backlash once you realize how far into your heart you've allowed him. Unfortunately, however – and shamefully, I might add – I have very little faith that you will be able to conquer your demons to the extent necessary to offer this child a good home._

_It's risky, my boy, so __very__ risky…if you take him in and then cannot quell your fears to a reasonable extent, I'm afraid they will tear you apart._ _But at the same time,_ he sighed, _I cannot bring myself to heartlessly snuff out the tiny spark you're carrying this evening. Not when it's been so very long since I saw anything like it in you. You're __smiling__, for God's sake. If a mere memory of him can do that, what might his actual presence at your side be capable of? Perhaps it's worth a try, at that, but you've got to be sure. And even if you are, it's still utterly mad. But if you're __sure__…then I will, as always, support you._

"…Well, sir," he opined pensively after a lengthy silence, "if I may…perhaps you ought to sleep on it. Several times, even. You must be _absolutely certain_," he stressed as he sensed an argument rising. "…It will hurt the boy if you begin proceedings and then change your mind," he pointed out. "And if you truly did feel a connection with him," he went on as he rose, "then I imagine that hurting him is the last thing you want to do, is it not?"

"He's been hurt enough," the billionaire grimaced. _I just want to make sure that he isn't hurt any more. _His hand went to his pocket. "…But they aren't going to get away with it."

_Night work, then,_ the butler nodded._ You seem to process decisions almost as well during that activity as during sleep these days, so I suppose the cave is a fair second to your bed as a place to mull this mad idea of yours over._ "Will Batman be going out tonight?" _Don't. You're distracted, it will only end badly if you do._

"No. It's late, and it will take some time to narrow down the chemical used on the wires. Never mind pulling a file together for the case," he added with a slight frown. _I wonder if that CPS agent has started inputting her notes yet,_ he pondered. _…If I don't get to it tonight, I'll break into their digital case files tomorrow. From the way she was acting, I have the feeling she's going to give him black marks wherever she can. _

"Very good, sir," Alfred nodded, hiding his relief. "…And do think things over, Master Wayne. There's no need to rush into anything; it doesn't sound as if the authorities are likely to find relations to take him in any time soon. Make sure this is something that you can and truly want to do," he advised sagely, hiding the fear he felt growing in his guts for the child he'd raised.

"…Sure, Alfred. I'll, ah…I'll think it over," he promised, climbing to his feet in preparation to head for the cave. _He's right, I know he's right, but…I'm confident about this. I can handle it._

…_I think._

**Author's Note: Bruce's back and forth is far from over, but at least he's already hard at work on Alfred. Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

Before his parents had been dead twenty-four hours, Dick had entered into an alien world.

He'd passed out from sheer exhaustion in the social worker's car the night before, and while his sleep was far from peaceful he didn't actually awaken until a loud claxon went off the next morning. Bolting upright in panic, he found himself in the middle of a large room filled with rows of cots identical to the one supporting him. Each camp bed gave forth a child, many of them looking as bewildered as the young acrobat felt. Uniformed adults waved them towards the large double doors at one end of the space, and he followed the flow of the crowd, uncertain what was going on but fairly confident that he wouldn't get into too much trouble if he did the same thing as everyone else.

They were hustled into a too-small cafeteria and split into two groups. The first was allowed to form a line, pick up trays, and be served moderate portions of breakfast; the second, of which Dick was a part, was made to stand along the walls, licking their lips as they watched their cohorts eat. For all that they were given the privilege of being first, the early birds – for, indeed, it was the children who had been at the head of the pack coming in who were selected to dine in the earlier bunch – had no chance for a leisurely meal. Instead, they were harried by the same grown-ups who had rushed them in and divided them. Ten minutes after a tray hit a table, it was swept back up, empty or not, and stacked on a rolling cart. Twenty minutes after they'd all filed in, the last member of wave one, a girl with a broken arm who had struggled to get a few bites to her mouth with her non-dominant hand, was driven from the chamber so that the rest of the hall's occupants could be fed.

Learning from observation was crucial in as dangerous a world as aerial acrobatics, and Dick got the hint quickly. The instant his rear hit the seat, he began shoveling food into his mouth. "Sorry, mom," he said automatically as a bit of tasteless scrambled egg fell from his lips. _…Oh. She…she's not here to give me that look she does when I eat too fast. I mean…that look she __did__..._ His eyes filled with tears, a couple of which slid down his cheeks despite the fact that he was surrounded by strangers. _Don't cry. Don't. _Glancing around, he found no one watching, although several others at his table seemed to be merely staring at their repast, dazed expressions on their faces. _What is this place? Why…why am I here? _The visions that had made him toss during his emotionally drained slumber rushed in with a vengeance, and set his plastic fork down in favor of wrapping his arms around his suddenly upset stomach. _No. No, it should be cinnamon toast and apples this morning, it's __always__ cinnamon toast and apples on pack-up days…what is this? Why are there eggs? __What is this place__?!_

"Hey," the girl to his left whispered, nudging him. "Hey, kid. You gonna eat that?" she gestured to his tray.

"…No," he shook his head. "You can-" But it was already gone, having been yanked away the instant the first syllable left his mouth. _…have it. I'm not hungry any more, anyway._

Once they were banished from the cafeteria they passed back through the field of cots, directed by the adults to pick up their personal effects. Having none, Dick simply watched, cheeks still shining. A few children shot him odd looks as they, too, waited, their things already in hand. _What? What's wrong with me?_ he wondered, then looked down to find himself still in his performance garb. _…Oh…_ Amongst the tattered t-shirts and jeans of the others, his clothes were ostentatious. Never before had he felt shame while in his circus outfit, but he found himself wishing more and more that he had something else to wear with every new glance sent in his direction. _I __could__ put Mr. Wayne's coat back on, even if it is way too huge on me…wait,_ his eyes widened as they swept over the area he'd slept in. _…It isn't there. It isn't there, and I don't have it. Oh, no, I lost it! I lost it somehow, and there's no way I can ever replace it…and he was so nice to me, and now…now I've lost his jacket…_

In a state of mild panic, he was rushed through rudimentary ablutions in a rust-colored bathroom and on into yet another large room. Here all of the children were divided again, some shuttled off to auxiliary spaces, others ordered to stand along one particular section of wall and keep quiet. Dick was once again sent to the edge of the floor, where he had to hunch forward in order to keep his bare shoulders from touching the cold bricks. _…That lady told me she was going to take me back to the circus this morning,_ he recalled. _So…so I could get some things. But if we don't leave soon they will have already left for the next show…_

He stood there for fifteen minutes as new adults came in, selected a child or two, and led them out. _…I wish I could go with __that__ lady today,_ he thought miserably as he watched another boy be greeted with a smile and a kind word. _Somehow I don't think mine's going to be in such a great mood._

She wasn't. Her lips were nearly invisible when she strode in, glanced down the line of youngsters, and then called out three names sharply. Hearing his own among them, Dick moved towards her. When he stopped at her side, she shoved a pair of old sneakers at him. "Put these on. You can't run around in bare feet all the time now that you're amongst normal people."

_…What is __that__ supposed to mean?_ he frowned angrily as he accepted the shoes. _I wear shoes normally, I'm only barefoot because it was the middle of the show when…when…when I ran out. You wouldn't let me bring anything from home last night, or I'd __have__ shoes…_ Feeling her hot eyes on the top of his head as he stared at the sneakers, which appeared to his eyes to be at least a size too small, he swallowed his tears. _Shoes that __fit__. Don't cry. Not in front of __her__, at least. Don't cry…_

As he'd predicted, they were horribly tight. His usual easy gait became a pinched limp as he followed her out to her old sedan and crawled into the backseat with the girl who had finished his breakfast. Another boy dropped into the front passenger seat, closed his eyes, and began to hum a tune that Dick didn't recognize. On the sidewalk, the social worker was stopped by one of the adults who had directed them through breakfast. _…They look busy, _he thought. _Maybe I have a couple seconds… _Gulping, he turned to the teenager beside him. "…Hi."

She looked over crossways. "Hey, kid."

_It's like that's my new name or something_. The only non-circus person who had called him by his given name since the night before was Mr. Wayne, he realized. _Well, technically the lady just did, inside, but that was only to find me, not because she wanted to be polite, so…it doesn't really count, I don't think._ "Um…what…what _was_ that place?"

The question piqued her interest. "What're you, new or something?" Her eyes traveled down, taking in his costume. "Oh. Yeah, I guess you must be, if you haven't even gotten better clothes than _that_ yet."

"This…this is my performance outfit," he explained hesitantly. "…I'm an aerialist. You know, trapeze? In a circus."

She snorted. "Okay. Sure. And every night I turn into a little mouse, scurry out of wherever they've shoved me that week, and go on exciting adventures," she waved her hands sarcastically. Seeing his hurt look, she sighed. "Look, everyone's got their own way of getting along. You want to say you're a whatchacallit – aerialist – then go for it, kid. Whatever. No one cares about anyone else's delusions; we're all too busy working on our own, hoping to be the next one to freak one of the counselors out. It's the closest thing we get to going to the movies."

_Okay, so she doesn't believe me,_ he grimaced. _I__ know I'm an aerialist. But she sounds like she knows what's going on here, so…_ "So…ah…what is this place?"

"Transfer site. So, like, if you're a new kid coming into the system, like you, or if they're moving you from one group home to another, like with me, you sometimes come here first. There's a lot less paperwork to do here than at the places where you stay longer, so if it's later in the day when you get moved, or if they sign you out of your old place and there's a hold up with the new one, you get sent here for a night or two."

"Oh. So…that's not where we have to stay from now on?" he asked hopefully. _Anything's got to be better than that place._

"Hell, no." Her eyes snapped to something behind him suddenly. "Now shut up, she's done talking." With that warning she fell silent, staring out the window.

No one spoke again until they pulled up to a towering, grim edifice with a spiked iron fence running along the entire perimeter. "Ellen, David, let's go," the CPS agent barked. "I've got a lot to do this morning, there's no time for lagging," she added, shooting a look at Dick in the rearview. The other two climbed out of the car, grabbed their bags from the trunk, and were clucked along towards the door. The social worker handed a sheaf of papers through the entrance to someone, exchanged a few words, and then returned to her spot behind the wheel. "Now," she almost snarled, "we're going to talk about your little theft last night."

"…Huh?" he looked up. He'd just kicked off the too-tight shoes she'd brought him, and was too busy enjoying the sensation of circulation returning to his toes to have fully gathered her meaning.

"Your _thievery._"

"…I didn't steal anything," he denied, confused.

"Well, that's about the response I expected. If you didn't steal anything, then how do you explain the coat you had on last night? You didn't have it when I first saw you, and it's far too nice to be anything _you_ own anyway, so…where did you get it?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, suddenly understanding. "I didn't steal it, ma'am. Mr. Wayne let me borrow it because I was cold. Do…do you know where it is? It disappeared…"

"I removed it from you when I saw that it obviously wasn't yours. I suppose you just thought you'd 'borrow' it on a long-term basis?"

"Well…I forgot I was wearing it. Honest," he insisted. _It's safe. I didn't lose it, the lady took it. Now I can give it back to him, if I ever see him again. He said…he said 'I don't know,' not 'no,' so maybe I will…_

"Likely story. Whatever happened," she informed him, "it will be returned to Mr. Wayne today, along with an explanation of and an apology for your transgression."

"You mean I get to see him again today?" Dick asked hopefully, ignoring the fact that if he did he was going to be made to apologize for something he hadn't done.

"Of course not," she gave him a strange stare. "He's an important man, he doesn't see disadvantaged children without weeks of prior scheduling. It will be delivered to his home with a note from me, explaining the situation."

"…Oh." He slumped in his seat. _Then he might think I really __was__ trying to steal it. But…he might know better, no matter what she writes. He's not like her. He's different._

He watched his new world roll by for over half an hour as they moved through Gotham and out into the hills near Newtown. Everything he saw, it seemed, triggered a memory of his parents, and it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to keep anything more than a few tears and covert sniffles from escaping as a result. _Not in front of her, _he cajoled himself._ She wouldn't care, anyway._

When they finally arrived at the spot where the circus had run for three nights, he was both relieved and frightened to see that nothing had changed. _They were supposed to travel to the next show today. Why are they still here? Did they cancel? They can't cancel, it's so expensive to cancel a show, especially at the beginning of the season like this… _Nevertheless, the tents, the animal pens, and all the trailers stood in place exactly where they had the night before. _It's like nothing even happened. It's like…it's like they could still be here, just…just inside or something… _

Haly himself stood outside of the Grayson trailer with Soraya, who like Dick was still wearing her clothes from the night before. The car had barely stopped before the boy was out of the backseat and running for them. Pop picked him up with a slight grunt and squeezed him tight for a second before passing him to the woman who had laid hands on him the instant he was within reach. "Tanti," he whispered miserably. _Don't let them take me away again. Please. Let me come home…_

"Hush, dahlink," she stroked his hair. He complied, crying noiselessly against her throat where the stranger couldn't see. _Poor leetle von,_ the fortune teller moaned to herself. _Vhat vill __zey__,_ she shot such a volatile glare at the CPS agent that the woman took a step backwards,_ do vith you? Vhat vill your people do vithout you? No more heart of zee show vithout you…vhat kind of a circus have no heart? No kind._

They stood like that until the social worker built up the courage to clear her throat impatiently. Hating himself, Haly leaned over and gently pried the boy away from Soraya, placing him on the ground. "Let's get your things," he suggested quietly, opening the door for him.

Inside, Dick paused and tried to steady himself. _Don't. Don't cry. Just…get some clothes._ Entering behind him, Haly's breath hitched, his hand landing on the boy's shoulder and squeezing as he passed him an ancient cloth-sided suitcase. "…Here. I found this in my trailer. I don't need it anymore; you should have it."

"Thanks," he murmured, taking it. _Packing. I…I have to pack, because I…because I can't come back here. They're not going to let me, Mr. Wayne said, and it seemed like he knew what he was talking about. But I don't wanna go…_ He knew he had no choice, however, so despite his mental protestations he moved towards his bed and set the bag down, opening it up flat. _Clothes,_ he decided, remembering the looks he'd gotten that morning at the transfer site. He waited until Pop Haly had seated himself out of the way at the table, then headed for the back of the trailer with Soraya right behind him.

"Let us see, dahlink Reeshurd," she breathed, petting him with one hand while her other swiftly pulled down a few articles of child-sized clothing. "Zees vill do fine. And a jahket, you vill vant one. It iz a very cold place here, zis Gofam, but you must stay varm."

When they returned to the front of the trailer, Dick found a large piece of glossy folded paper covering the bottom of the suitcase. "…What?" he asked, turning to the seated man.

"One of the show posters," the circus director explained. "It only seemed right that you should have it. You…you have to remember where you come from, Dick. It's the best way to keep their memory alive in your heart."

"…I won't forget," he promised thickly. "I'll _never_ forget. Any of it."

"Good boy," Haly nodded.

"Zere," Soraya announced, having quickly folded and tucked in several outfits worth of clothing. "And you haf room for some toys, too," she added, cupping his cheek.

"…I should probably change while I'm here," the child said, shifting uncomfortably. _…Once I take my costume off, though…will I ever get to wear anything like it again? Probably not…_ He glanced at the suitcase, but there was little enough space left as it was. _I'll just have to leave it, I guess,_ he thought sadly. "…I'll be right back," he told the adults, then slipped into the back again and pulled the curtain to change.

_Tanti already packed all my best clothes, _he frowned as he examined the racks. Remembering a pair of corduroys that had been a bit too big when they'd bought them – _'you can grow into them, though, sweetheart,' _his mother had explained when he protested that they were falling off of him – he dug his way to the back wall. Along the way he stopped to fondle a few special items: an old flannel that his father wore on the coldest mornings at the very beginning and end of the season; the beautiful tailor-made dress his mother had run away from home in; the thick wool blanket that they all three huddled under on cool nights when the heater wasn't working. He couldn't take any of it with him, it finally sank in; this was the very last time he would ever see these objects. If he'd thought it would work for more than ten seconds, he would have curled up in that old comforter and hidden behind the clothes; as it was, though, he could hear the social worker at the door, asking what was taking so long, and knew that wasn't an option.

Tears dotted his twisted expression as he moved past reminders of the good life he had lived up until last night. Finding the pants he'd been looking for at the back alongside a sweater that he'd forgotten about, he changed quickly and returned to the others.

"Well, are you ready?" the CPS agent asked exasperatedly from where she stood just outside the open door, arms crossed and nose in the air.

"No, ma'am, he isn't yet," Pop Haly replied tersely, reaching out to guide Dick towards Soraya, who sat on the lower bed with his toys spread out around her. "He's still got a little packing to do. He'll be ready plenty soon enough." _You come in amongst my people, and you tell us you're taking him away because it's the law, but you won't even let him have time to say goodbye to the only place he's ever called home. People like you are the reason I try to avoid playing big places like this; the money's a hell of a lot better in the cities, but the attitudes you have to deal with…it's not worth it. _

"Here, lahv," the fortune teller pulled him close as he surveyed the array that she'd pulled up from the crates beneath his bunk. "You take vhatever you vant, hmm? Even eef it do not feet in zee bag."

"It had _all_ better fit in one bag!" came shrilly from the doorway. "And no more than _one_ stuffed animal per child, that's the rule! It breeds discontent otherwise."

Soraya pressed her hands over Dick's ears and gave Haly a pleading look. "Zhukli nasul!" she insisted in Romany, gesturing towards the woman hidden from view once the bad words were out of her mouth.

_Whether she's an 'evil bitch' or not, Soraya, I explained all of this. We can't fight the law and survive, you know that,_ he sighed, shaking his head and looking away, shame in the pit of his stomach. _Others have tried, and you've seen where it's gotten them; jail, or worse. It's hard to wander when you're behind bars. _

Seeing that he could do nothing, she bit her lip and concentrated on her last few minutes with the boy she had watched come into the world. "…You peek out vhat you vant," she instructed. "Ve vill _make_ eet feet."

He leaned his head against her arm gratefully, then began to make careful selections. Elinor, the stuffed elephant he'd been given only days after birth, was the first thing he grabbed. After that he managed to fit in a large top decorated with lions and a little photo album full of postcards and pictures from places they'd traveled. The bag was all but overflowing, but before he closed it he dashed to the rear of the trailer again, coming back with one of Mary's favorite scarves and the little bottle of perfume she had worn only on holidays and special occasions. He wrapped the glass carefully in the patterned fabric and tucked it neatly away, then zipped the suitcase shut, casting a longing glance at a plush giraffe that was second only to Elinor in his toy hierarchy. _…She said only one animal, and it __has __to be my elephant,_ he told himself sternly. _She already doesn't like me, disobeying her will just make it worse._

"…You are…all done?" Soraya breathed, her mouth trembling as her fingers tightened on his arm.

His eyes traveled slowly over the entire trailer, which already felt bereft of some essential life force. _…No. No, I'm not done, Tanti,_ he decided suddenly. "…There's one more thing I want to take with me," he said, leaning in conspiratorially so the stranger wouldn't overhear. "…Would you read my fortune?"

"Ov course," she said immediately. "…But my cards are een zee _trala_."

"That's okay. I…I want you to read my palm."

She gave him a shocked look. Dick _always _asked for tarot; the cards were pretty, he said, and it tickled when she tried to read his palm. _So much haz changed, dahlink, and so fast, but…even zat?_ "It vill teekle," she reminded him.

"…No," he shook his head, something firming up deep in his gaze. "I don't think it will, Tanti. Not…not anymore."

_…Vell, maybe I vill see eef my vision iz right,_ she thought. Meeting Pop Haly's eyes, she jerked her head towards the door. _Deestract zee zhukli,_ her gesture insisted.

He hesitated. _I know it's just a reading, but if that woman finds out what you're doing in here, she's going to give him another bad mark,_ he worried. "…Soraya," he started quietly, hoping to make her see as much without giving anything away.

"Cornelius," she hissed back, her face darkening threatingly. _I __vill __do zhis ting for heem. No von vill stop me. Now go do __your__ vurk, so __I__ can do mine._

The circus director stood and stretched, giving in. "Soraya, I'm going to ask a couple of questions, see about John and Mary's…funeral," he gulped. "You bring Dick out just as soon as you're done."

"Ov course. Ve vill not be long," she nodded. As soon as he had gone and they could hear him engaging the social worker in talk, leading her a short way from the trailer's door, she turned back to the boy now giving her an intensely sad but determined look. "…Now ve vill see how your life vill be," she unfolded his hand gently on top of her own. _Let eet be good,_ she prayed as she looked down. _Eet __must__ be good…he deyzurves so much good…please… _Her eyes widened as she stared at his hand. _Oh…oh, dahlink…_

_How do I tell ov zo much light, and ov zo much dark, dancing togetter?_ she marveled as her stunned gaze rose to meet his. _I vish I knew how to say such tings…but zere are not vords, een any tongue. You vill simply haf to leeve eet, Reeshurd…leeve it vell._

**Author's Note: Soraya did, in fact, call the CPS agent an evil bitch. So, in case you ever want to curse at someone in Romany, there's a little tidbit.**

**I have to go out of town for a few days to attend a funeral, and don't know how much writing time I will have while I'm there. I will try and post at least one more chapter before next Tuesday, and should be back on the regular, every day schedule after that. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

They emerged five minutes later, Soraya looking as if she'd hit her head, Dick appearing mildly confused. He remained at her side as Pop Haly finished asking a question of the increasingly agitated social worker. "…Where will he be taken now? Until a guardian is found, I mean."

"I can't disclose that," she answered a bit smugly.

"…You mean you don't know, or…?"

"I mean I can't disclose that information, Mr. Haly," she half-snapped. "...Well? Are you ready, finally?" she directed at Dick.

"I…" he shrank back a bit from her tone. _No. Of course I'm not ready. This is my __home__._ "…Can I say goodbye to the elephants?" he asked, looking up at Soraya.

"Ov course," she cooed, stroking his hair.

"Absolutely not," the CPS agent said coldly. "Elephants are dangerous creatures even in the hands of _properly_ trained caretakers. No ward of the state is going anywhere near one."

"…They're my friends," Dick told her matter-of-factly. "I want to say goodbye to them."

"_No,_" she negated smoothly. "You're out of time. Maybe if you'd been faster in…_there,_" she waved her hand dismissively towards the trailer, "you would be able to. But right now, we're late."

_This is wrong. Soraya's right; you __are__ an evil bitch,_ Haly thought as he crossed his arms, stepping in front of the boy when the stranger moved forward as if to pull him away. "This may be the last time he gets to see them…for a while," he tried to reason through gritted teeth. "Don't you think whoever you're late for will understand that he's been through a terrible loss and needs an extra few minutes to say his goodbyes?"

"'Goodbyes,' Mr. Haly?" she smirked. "He can say his goodbyes on Thursday, at the funeral. And right now, to the two of you, if he does it _quickly_." Her eyes fell on Dick's feet, half-hidden in the trampled grass, and narrowed. "…Where are your shoes?" she hissed.

"Oh! I almost forgot." Moving back to the trailer, he leaned inside and grabbed his own sneakers, then sat down on the step to pull them on. "…There," he said, rising.

"What did you do with the _other_ pair?"

"They're in the car. They were too tight," he explained. "These ones fit better."

"Ungrateful little brat," she muttered.

"You vill not say dees tings!" Soraya shouted, pushed to her limit. Trailer doors opened all down the line at the outburst, and a few people poked their heads out of the tents. Realizing that the social worker was back, people began to gather. "He iz not doze tings you say! You do not listen, dahlink," she ordered Dick. "She knows _nofink _ov you."

The CPS agent paled as she saw the crowd amassing, but drew herself up with a sharp harrumph and addressed Haly. "Any attempt to stop me from taking the child, or to delay my departure, _will_ be responded to by the local police. Bear that in mind, Mr. Haly, and move out of the way."

"Cornelius!" Soraya's imperative rang out as she clung to the boy. "You can_not_! Not vith her!"

He closed his eyes and bowed his head slowly, then stepped aside. "…I'm sorry," he said to the assembly in general. "I don't have the power to stop it. None of us do."

"Richard! Come!" the social worker ordered.

"_He's_ not a dog_,_ _zhukli,"_ someone in the group called out. Hearing her earlier slur repeated, Soraya grinned wickedly. Her pleased expression dissolved, however, when Dick began to pull away.

"…Reeshurd?" she asked softly, reaching for him.

"I have to, Tanti," he told her. "…I don't want anyone to get in trouble. Please…I have to go with her." Fat tears rolled down to his chin as he sniffed unhappily.

"Come on, Soraya, let him go," Haly requested, coming up to the pair with dampness shining on his own cheeks. "We'll see him on Thursday, at the service."

"You're going to stay that long?" Dick craned his neck to ask the director. "But…you have shows to do…"

"We do, but…the Flying Graysons were the core of our show. We have no right to perform without laying them to rest first. We'll be there, I promise."

"…Okay," he nodded, then turned back to Soraya. "…Tanti?"

"Go, my dahlink," she half-sobbed. "But Reeshurd? You _remember_ vhat I said, mm? You remember." _You are zee light that mingles vith zee dark, but never crosses ofer,_ she repeated in her head. _You vill be zee best. Zee very best._

"…I will, Tanti. I promise." She bent, and he rose on his toes to place a kiss on her jaw. Then, with no other choice lest he risk the freedom of the people he held dearest in the world now that his parents were gone, he turned and dragged his feet to the waiting car, not so much as glancing at the CPS agent as he passed her. She made a displeased little noise, cast a disgusted stare at the folk watching her mutinously, and strode to the sedan. Beating the boy to it in her eagerness, she ripped his door open, then slammed it shut the instant he was inside. With a final disdainful smirk, she took her own seat and drove away.

Dick waved at the gathering for as long as he could see them. Turning away finally when he had to admit that they weren't going to come back into view, he tried to lock in the memory of the forest of adieuing arms that had bid him farewell. _…I'll see them on Thursday,_ he sniffled quietly. _That's just four days away. It's not…it's not __so__ long…at least it isn't f-f-forever…_ But it might be, after Thursday, and he couldn't see any way of escaping that fact. _How long is forever? I don't want to be alone…please…_ Hoping the woman in the front seat wouldn't bother to look back and check on him, he pulled his knees up and hid his face against them, no longer able to refrain from crying. _I don't want to be alone…I want to go home… _ He drifted off into sleep on that litany, the soaked corduroy under his cheek chafing his skin as his head lolled.

The sun coming through the window was warm on his back when he swam up into semi-consciousness again, and for a moment he merely sat, enjoying it. _…I wonder what's for dinner? I'm really hungry…how far have we driven today? We must be almost to the next place by now. Maybe we'll be a little closer to town here…it would be nice to walk around the streets with mom and dad, and maybe we could even get ice cream like we did right before we left winter camp…_

A mean-hearted murmur interrupted his half-dream. _…Who was __that__?_ he puzzled. _Pop Haly doesn't sound like that even on his worst day…_ Dragging his eyelids up, he blinked several times in consternation. _…Why are we outside of a jail? Are we giving a show for the prisoners? _A sign hanging on the high, spiked fence caught his attention. _'Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys, (City of Gotham)'_ he read slowly, the last twenty four hours coming back in greater and greater detail with each word. _…Maybe…maybe we're just picking someone up,_ he tried to hope. _This can't be…I mean…I didn't do anything wrong, so…_

"Wake up back there!"

He raised his head slowly, obeying the social worker's command. "…Yes, ma'am?"

"Don't 'ma'am' me," she gave him a scathing look. "All the polite, _normal_ behavior in the world won't get you out of at least a few nights here. Everywhere else is full up, so until a bed opens someplace and your name hits the top of the list, you'll be staying here." Her lips twitched upwards. "Frankly, it will do you good to have a little discipline after that hedonistic camp you've been living in," she opined.

_…I don't think you know what that word means,_ he frowned. _Isn't that, like, bathing in champagne and having grapes fed to you by servants, that sort of thing? I mean, she's a grown-up, so maybe I'm wrong, but…we __definitely__ never bathed in champagne. We didn't even have a bathtub!_ Moving away from the issue of semantics, he registered the crux of the matter. _I have to stay here,_ he bit his lip. _In a…a detention center. Even though I haven't done anything wrong. _"..There's _nowhere _else?" he whispered as it sank in.

"Nope," she smirked.

"Maybe…I mean what if…" _Would he do it? I dunno, but…even if he says no, it's worth a try…_ "Could we call…Mr. Wayne? He was super nice to me last night, maybe he'd let me stay…with…him…" he trailed off at the slack-jawed look of disbelieving outrage on the social worker's face as she gaped at him in the rearview mirror.

"…You presumptuous little…" she breathed.

"It was just a thought," he said quietly, flinching at the coldness in her eyes.

"…Get out of the car."

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered, complying. _…I just meant until someplace opened up, so I wouldn't have to go to…to jail,_ he gulped, staring through the fence at the bleak slate-roofed complex on the other side. _I don't understand why I'm here. I get the whole 'no space' thing, but…this place is for kids who have done bad things. But I didn't do anything wrong…_ Gripping his suitcase tightly with both hands, he walked up the long, cheerless path to the front entrance, the agent all but breathing down his neck. _Why is this happening to me? Mom…daddy…this isn't __fair__…_

Inside, his paperwork was peered at by a receptionist. "...Everywhere else's full, huh?" she asked boredly, snapping her chewing gum. "Sucks to be you, kid. Sorry." With that, she buzzed them through a gated door that led to a long corridor. At the end of it they turned left, and Dick saw the first bit of color in the entire place.

"Hello," a stocky young woman nodded at the social worker from behind her desk. "You must be…Richard?" she referenced her computer screen and gave him a smile.

He relaxed slightly. _…She doesn't seem so bad, at least. And she likes color,_ he admired, gazing around at the bright prints on the walls. "…It's just Dick," he said softly.

"Well, Dick, my name is Miss Linda, and I'm the counselor here at the Center. Why don't you have a seat while we get a couple of things settled, and then you and I can have our own little chat, okay?"

"Thanks," he said, sending her a tiny smile of his own once he was seated.

"Now," she turned to the still-standing agent, "I have to confess, I'm a little confused. There is nothing in Dick's records to indicate that he should be here."

"There's no room anywhere else. Standard procedure, Linda, you know that."

"I may know it, but that doesn't mean I like it," she sighed. "…Do you have the permission form from the Head?"

"It's being faxed over as we speak."

Her lips pursed. "I've never had one so young placed here because of non-availability. Can't…isn't there an older child you can bring in instead, one who hasn't had so much recent trauma?" she asked.

"You clearly have no idea of the paperwork involved in that," the social worker snorted. "Besides…this one could use some straightening up. You should have _seen_ the hovel they lived in."

"It's a nice trailer," Dick couldn't keep from arguing.

"You see the back-talk I've been putting up with?"

"…Well," Linda said slowly, frowning at the other woman, "looking at the paperwork, it doesn't seem like I have much choice but to admit him. But I'm calling the Head in the morning and requesting that his name be put at the top of the list for reassignment. He doesn't belong here." Stamping several sheets of paper, she stapled them and handed them over. "There."

"Thank you," came back primly. Without saying a word to Dick, the CPS agent spun on her heel and marched out.

"…Bye," he whispered as she disappeared. Despite the agent's horrid attitude since the first moment they'd met, her presence had been the one constant in his freshly shattered world. Seeing her walk out, leaving him in the hands of someone else without so much as a parting nod, put his stomach into turmoil. "…Hi," he said a little bit more strongly as he turned back to the desk to find the new woman – _Miss Linda_, he recalled – watching him.

"Hi," she replied. "Now, listen, I know this is all pretty scary, especially with everything else you've got going on right now. But I'm the counselor. Do you know what that means?"

"…You're here to help people," he said slowly.

"Right," she nodded. "Now, I read over your file before you came in, and it looks like you're pretty new to Gotham, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Ah!" she corrected kindly. "That's Miss Linda to you, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed. "Miss Linda." _…Maybe this isn't so bad after all._

"Well, since that's the case, there are a couple of things that you need to know. Where you are right now is called the Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys. It's where judges send other young men who need a little…extra guidance on their path to adulthood. Now, having said that…you aren't the kind of person we tend to get here. From what I can tell, you haven't done anything wrong. Is that right?"

Relief crashed down on him. _Finally, someone who believes I'm not a criminal,_ he sighed to himself. "Yes, ma – Miss Linda," he blushed, correcting himself.

"Okay. Sometimes," she explained, "this happens. Once a spot opens up in a group home or elsewhere, we'll get you moved. In the meantime, though, there are a few things that you need to know about the Center. Are you ready to hear them, or would you like to talk about something else first?"

_What else would we talk about?_ he wondered. _…You're really nice, Miss Linda, but…I don't really want to talk about my parents with you. Or the circus. Or anything else, really. You wouldn't understand, and…well, it might just make you hate me the way the other lady does. She never even told me her name… _"I'm ready to hear them," he answered.

"...All right," she said, clearly having expected a different response. "Well, the first thing we need to talk about is how we do things here, just in case . You'll share a room with another boy, named Caleb. I think you'll get along just fine, he's not a troublemaker, either. Now, tomorrow morning there will be an alarm that wakes you up. After that goes off, you have fifteen minutes to make it down to the cafeteria. If you're late," she grimaced, "they won't let you eat. When breakfast is over, someone will take you to a special room and give you some tests-"

"Tests?" he interrupted, eyes wide. "…Sorry. But…tests on what?"

"Oh, different things. We have to find out where you are with schooling, and a few other things. Nothing that will hurt or be _too_ difficult, I'm sure. Now, after that-"

"Excuse me, Miss Linda?" a man wearing a janitor's uniform knocked on the doorframe.

"…Yes?" she asked.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, but Kevin and Freddie done got to another one. Nurse wants you down to the infirmary."

Her face became serious. "…Kevin _and_ Freddie, Lionel? Was it serious?"

The janitor glanced at Dick, who sat stiffly in his chair and tried not to make it obvious that he was listening intently in an attempt to learn whatever he could about this place he was expected to survive. "Yes, Miss Linda. Nurse called an ambulance for Caleb."

Her eyes, too, now traveled to Dick. "Well," she tried to give him an encouraging look. "I'm sure he'll be fine. You might have your room to yourself tonight, though. That's quite a luxury here." She stood up and removed a recorder from the drawer of her desk, pocketing it. "Lionel, will you please show Dick the way so he can have a few minutes to himself? He's a guest of ours for a couple of days, since CPS doesn't have any place else for him right now. We'll have to finish our talk later," she directed to the boy. "…But I'm afraid I have to hold onto your personal items. The other boys aren't allowed to have anything of their own during their sentences, and we don't want to give them any reason to resent you."

"I…" he clung to the handle of the battered old suitcase. "Um…"

"It will be safe, I promise," she swore. "It goes into a special vault. We'll get you a jumpsuit, that way you don't have to worry about your clothes being locked up. Lionel will bring the ones you're wearing back here to my office, and I'll put them with your suitcase. Okay?"

"I…" he stuttered again. _If I start disobeying the rules now, they might decide that I really __do__ belong here and make me stay longer,_ he logicked. _…I don't want to be here at __all__. _"…Okay," he nodded, teeth sinking into his lip as he handed over the only possessions he had left in the world. _At least they'll be safe. Miss Linda will keep them safe._

"You come on this way, son," Lionel gestured to him once the transfer was complete. "I'll give you a little tour, so's you know your way around some. That all right, Miss Linda?"

"That would be wonderful," she exhaled gratefully. "It's all right, Dick, you just go with Lionel. He'll get you all settled in, and we'll talk later."

"…Okay, Miss Linda," he murmured, sliding out of his chair and approaching the tall janitor cautiously. "Hi, Mr. Lionel."

"Hello yourself," he replied easily as Linda slipped past him, suddenly in a great hurry. "You ain't got to call me Mister. You can just call me Lionel."

"…Sure, Lionel. I'd like that." He looked at his feet for a moment, then realized that he hadn't given the man his own name. "I'm Dick."

"Real nice to meet you, Dick," was nodded down to him. "Now, you follow me, and we'll see what we see, all right?"

He hesitated, glancing back to where his suitcase still sat on the desk. _This place…I don't like it. The grown-ups seem okay so far, but…my roommate already got beat up, and I haven't even met him yet. I don't know what's going to happen…what if the other boys don't like me, and try to beat me up, too? I don't want to get in a fight, but…he said the nurse had to call an ambulance, and…_ His eyes grew hot for what felt like the hundredth time since he'd woken up.

"Hey, now, there ain't nothing to worry about," Lionel said kindly. "So long as you're with me, ain't nobody gonna touch you."

"So…" he sniffled, "when I'm not with you, then…?" _Then am __I__ going to end up in an ambulance like Caleb? Miss Linda said he's not even a troublemaker, what did he do to make the other boys want to hurt him?_

The janitor glanced down the hallway in both directions, then squatted down so that he could look the child in the eye. "…You seem like a real good kid," he said in a low voice. "Smart one, too. Seems to me like you shouldn't be here at all, and I reckon Miss Linda feels the same. So I'ma give you a little advice, and you listen close, you hear?"

"…Yes, Lionel," he nodded, putting on a studious look. _I'll take all the help I can get. I think I'm going to need it._

"You stick close to adults whenever you can here," he told him. "Most a us are pretty okay. Try to just stay away from them other boys. Most of 'em…they ain't no good, son. Caleb's all right, just made a bad decision and is trying to atone for it by doing his time here. That's why they done beat him up like they did; they think he's soft, just cause he's wanting to set his life straight. He ain't soft, he's just good, like you. Whether you're here a couple days or a few weeks, whatever you do, don't go making friends _or_ enemies here. It won't end in nothing but trouble." With that, he regained his full height. "Now c'mon, I'll show you what you're gonna need to know." And he started off down the hall.

Dick stared after him for a long second before rushing to catch up, mindful of what he'd just been told. _…What's going to happen to me?_ he wondered miserably. _This place…even the __adults__ think it's bad. If the other kids are so awful, why couldn't I just stay at the circus another night? This isn't fair. _A boy passed them in the other direction, a foot taller than he was. He ignored Lionel completely, but shot a predatorially interested look at the child behind him. _...I don't belong here. Mama…daddy…__I don't belong here!_


	7. Chapter 7

His schedule at the Center was inconsistent at best. The first full day was taken up with tests: school-type tests, which were easy; psychological tests, which were confusing; and physical tests, which were cold and invasive. He spent the entire second day sitting in Miss Linda's office, where she tried to get him to talk about what had happened. Her interest seemed legitimate, but every time he started to get comfortable enough to consider opening up she was called away to deal with an emergency, leaving him alone for long stretches. Eventually he was taken back to his room, having shared nothing of importance despite the counselor's scattered efforts.

After breakfast on day three, Wednesday, he was led to an empty classroom and left to sit by himself, extolled to wait until someone came for him. The only thing interesting in the space was a small rack of crumbling books in one corner, to which he gravitated as soon as he was by himself. Selecting one, he had just settled down with it when the door opened.

"Whatta we got here, boys?" a cruel but laughing voice filled the room as three much older males came in.

Looking up, Dick knew immediately that he was in trouble. He'd followed Lionel's advice as best he could, doing everything possible to remain in the presence of a grown-up at all times that the nightly room curfew wasn't in effect, but that was difficult to do when he was ordered to stay in place by an adult who then left. Now, unbeknownst to him, he was being approached by three of the Center's nastiest inmates. "…Hi," he said, trying to keep his voice firm as he closed his book.

"Heh. 'Hi,' he says," the leader of the pack, a beefy brunette with piggish eyes, sneered. "Like we're his _friends_ or something." The teens formed a triangle around the chair Dick sat in, leaning in menacingly. "We ain't your friends, screamer."

"Sc…screamer?" he asked hesitantly.

"Yeah. You're a fucking screamer. We're here to tell you to knock it the fuck off."

"I don't understand," he shook his head, confused. "I'm sorry."

"You whine for your stupid parents like eight times a night. I can't sleep with all that shit going on. So either you _quit_ keeping me up, or I fix the problem my own way. And you don't want me to do it my way, does he, boys?"

"Not unless he's a screamer in more ways than one," his cohort, whose ears stuck straight out of the side of his head to the point of absurdity, smirked.

"We'll find out soon enough if he doesn't keep his fucking mouth shut," the third teen said in a surprisingly low, gravelly voice that was his only discerning feature.

Now, finally, Dick began to understand what they were referencing by calling him 'screamer.' The night hours were the only time when he wasn't subject to the prying eyes of strangers, and thus far they had been taken up with a cycle of despair. He sobbed quietly until he fell asleep, slept exhaustedly until he was woken by nightmares – always the same, always his parents, always the same double thud no matter how hard he wished for it to end otherwise – woke up with a scream, and then fell back into crying. The process repeated three or four times every evening, leaving him worn out and dragging through the day. No one ever came to comfort him; the specialist workers were long gone by then, and the night staff had strict orders not to enter the boys' cells unless they suspected someone was being physically injured. "…I'm sorry," he apologized in a small voice. "I…I can't help it."

"You better figure out how to help it, then," the first boy spoke again. "Because it's gonna be pretty fucking hard to scream for your mommy when you've got a broken jaw."

Gulping, the younger boy recoiled slightly in his chair. Never in his life had he been physically threatened, by anyone, and the vitriol in the promise of violence he'd just been given was terrifying. _…I don't mean to scream,_ he ached to sob to someone who would actually give a damn. _I just…I just have bad dreams, and I can't help it…they wake __me__ up, too…_ "I'll figure it out," he swore shakily.

"Good," the brunette said forcefully, baring his teeth and suddenly poking Dick hard in the center of his forehead. "Don't make me talk to you again, runt. You'll regret it."

"…Okay," he nodded. _Ow! That __hurt__,_ he thought as he rubbed gingerly above his nose. _…But I'll bet a broken jaw would hurt a lot worse. _

"Heh. Fucking _baby_." Straightening, he and his cronies were just stepping back to a less invasive distance when the classroom door opened to reveal Miss Linda and an unknown man with a thick clipboard.

"Kevin, Freddie, Martin," she frowned deeply. "…What are you doing out of class?"

"Teach let us out for the bathroom," jug-ears replied in an effortless lie. "We heard this one crying, and thought we'd make sure he was okay. He's better now."

The counselor looked extremely skeptical as she glanced past the teens to Dick's frightened mien. "Well, get back to class, all three of you. No excuses. And leave him alone; he hasn't done anything to you. If you find him crying again, you need to get an adult. Is that understood?"

"Sure, Miss Linda," piggy-eyes replied, almost managing to sound good-natured. _Is that how he was before whatever happened to make him mean?_ Dick wondered. _Or is it just a really, really good act? I can't tell…_ Then he received a look from the older child that reaffirmed his earlier threat and, he imagined, was intended to expand it to include retribution were he to breathe a word to the woman watching them. _…Oh. Yeah, maybe it's just an act, then,_ he slumped. _Great. _

Once the trio vanished into the hallway, Linda drew closer. "…Were you really upset," she asked quietly, pulling up a chair, "or was there something else going on?"

He wanted to tell her the truth, not just because he didn't like to lie but also in the hope that maybe she, as an adult, could do something about it. _…But two of those boys are the same ones who hurt Caleb, _he realized, recognizing their names. _And it's almost like they didn't even get in trouble for it. So I don't think there would be anything that she really __could__ do if I told her. I guess…I guess I'm on my own in this._ "…I'm upset a lot," he said softly, looking away. "They were just trying to help." _…At least the first part isn't a lie._

Sighing, she shook her head. "Well, I want you to tell me if they're ever anything other than…helpful, okay?"

"Yes, Miss Linda," he whispered. _I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to lie to you, you're so nice, but...it'll just make things worse if I tell you the truth, and I don't want them to hurt me. _"Um…is there anywhere open for me somewhere else today?"

"No, they're all still full up," she tried to smile. She'd worked with troubled youths for too long to not recognize a childish diversion from a lie when she saw one, but it wasn't worth pushing him for the truth. If she did, she ran the risk of alienating him, and even if he did consent to tell her the extent of the threats she was certain had been made, there wasn't much she could do beyond putting another black mark in the files of the three older boys. "It won't be too much longer, I'm sure. For now, though," she rose, waving the man forward from the doorway, "this gentleman, Mr. Herst, needs to speak with you."

Dick spent the rest of the day answering detailed questions, most of which he could only venture a vague guess on. He was asked to recall every place he'd ever lived, even just for a few days; inquiries were made into any mention that his parents had ever made about relatives, living or dead, and close family friends besides; and then there was a bevy of questions designed to determine his personality type, which Mr. Herst explained would help them find him a suitable foster family if no relations could be found who were willing to take him in. Dick had to stop several times to hide his face and let a few tears flee, and by the end of it all he felt hollow and confused, a million tiny pieces of his life having been pulled out of his memory in quick succession and left jumbled on the floor of his brain.

That night he perched on his thin institutional mattress in a determined state of fear, sitting straight upright and staring across the room to the bed Caleb was supposed to be occupying. _I can't go to sleep,_ he told himself every time his eyelids began to droop. _If I go to sleep I'll have nightmares, and if I have nightmares I'll scream, and then I'll get beat up. I don't want to get beat up…_ He got up several times to do a few basic tumbles and handstands in the small open area of floor, working to keep himself awake. _Can't go to sleep. Can't go to sleep. He said he'll break my jaw if I scream any more…_

Looking back later in his life, he would barely be able to believe that he managed to ward off sleep for that entire night. By the time the wake-up bell was due to go off on Thursday, he was pallid with fatigue, dark shadows underlining his half-open eyes. But he'd done it; he'd stayed up, he hadn't screamed, and he was hypothetically safe from the boys who had threatened him the day before.

Thursday morning dawned gray and overcast. _…They should have a bright day to be buried on,_ he bemoaned as he looked out the narrow, barred window of his room. _A warm day. But,_ he reflected as he turned away and began to dress in the too-big gray clothes that all of the Center's residents wore, _I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it isn't. Does the sun even shine anymore?_ It was hard to tell; every day thus far, it hadn't yet been dawn when the alarm yanked him out of bed. He'd seen very few windows elsewhere in the building, and by the time he was allowed back in his room fifteen hours after leaving it almost all of the light had drained from the outside world._ It doesn't feel like it does,_ he shivered.

The door lock slid back suddenly despite the fact that the alarm hadn't yet sounded. Eyes widening, he turned to face it, his back going up against the wall defensively. _…But I didn't scream!_ he protested, expecting to see one or more of the teens from the day before come in with readied fists. _And how did they get a key to open the door? Maybe they attacked one of the janitors? I hope it wasn't Lionel…_

To his great relief it was Miss Linda who came in, along with a boy roughly twice Dick's age. His face was heavily bandaged, one eye patched, and he stumbled as he limped along behind her. "Good morning," the counselor said brightly. Her smile slackened when she saw the younger boy's exhaustion-ravaged complexion. "Are you feeling sick?" she inquired, touching his forehead with the back of her hand.

"…No, Miss Linda," he answered. _...Except for the fact that today's…today's the f-funeral. And I don't know if I can do it…my stomach feels bad. Awful._ _But I'm not sick, it's just…feelings._ He sighed. _I wonder if everyone feels this way when they have to bury their parents? I dunno. Mr. Wayne would know…_ But the rich man hadn't come to see him. _And why would he? He probably got that letter from the social worker with his jacket and thinks I'm a thief, just like she does. Even if he doesn't…why would he want to see me? I know he understands about…things, but that doesn't mean that he would feel like taking time out of his day just so some strange kid could cry all over him again._

"Well, you be sure to tell someone if that changes, okay?" she extracted a promise. "In the meantime, though…this is Caleb, your roommate. Caleb, this is Dick. Dick is staying with us for a few days until a place in a group home opens up. The same type of situation as we had with Nicholas a few months ago, remember?"

"Yes, Miss Linda," the teen said emptily, his voice raw. "Hi," he nodded to the new boy.

Looking past the bandages, Dick could see a bevy of bruises on his throat, as if someone had choked him. _Holy cow, what did __you__ do to make them angry?_ he wondered. "Hi," he replied.

"I'll leave you two to get acquainted," the counselor informed them. "Dick, I brought you these," she handed him the nicest clothes Soraya had packed for him. "You get changed so that you're ready to go, okay? And Caleb, don't forget that you're on bed rest today and tomorrow. I'm afraid I have to lock you in," she apologized. "I know you won't go anywhere, but…well, you know the drill."

"Yes, Miss Linda," came a scraping concession.

Left by themselves a few moments later, the boys stared at one another. "Um…I guess I should warn you," Dick looked away finally. "I…I have nightmares sometimes, and…and I wake up screaming. So, I don't mean to bother you with it or anything, but I…I can't help it. I just wanted to let you know." _Maybe that way you won't want to break my jaw, too._

"It's okay. It won't bother me," Caleb replied. "…Did they threaten you, about your screaming? The other boys? Kevin, maybe?"

"…How did you know that?"

He gave a tiny, wry smile. "Miss Linda told me some stuff about you. My parents are dead, too. Difference between you and me is, I'm responsible for one of them being that way." Seeing the other child's expression, he went on. "That's why I'm here. Couple years ago, my dad – he was an alcoholic – got mad at my mom and started hitting her. She tried to fight back, but it just made him angrier. He threw her down the stairs in our apartment building, and she died. Well, I loved my mama," he shrugged, a shadow passing over his face, "so when I saw that he was hurting her worse than he usually did, I went and grabbed the big knife out of the kitchen. I came out on the landing, and I stabbed him with it. Then he was dead, too, and a judge sent me here."

Lionel's words suddenly rang clearly in Dick's head. '_Caleb's all right, just made a bad decision and is trying to atone for it by doing his time here.'_ "I'm sorry," he said sincerely, unable to imagine what it must have been like to grow up in a home with parents who hurt one another.

"So am I," the teen shared. "I wish I hadn't killed him. I really do. But…he killed her, and I was just so mad at him for that. But I shouldn't have stabbed him. Not the way I did." He paused, considering. "Maybe just once. The four other times were probably too much. So…when did they threaten you?"

"Yesterday," he disclosed. "…I didn't sleep last night. That's why Miss Linda thought I was sick." His voice dropped to a whisper. "…I have to bury them today. My parents."

"Yeah, I figured when she brought you regular clothes." They were quiet for a moment. "Look, you see what those boys did to me, right?" he gestured to his face.

"Uh-huh," Dick nodded. "…Did it hurt?"

"Like a bitch. What I'm trying to say is, stay out of their way. If I was you, and I knew I had a chance of getting out of here soon, I'd tell Miss Linda that I really _was_ sick just as soon as I got back from the funeral. Don't tell her before, or she won't let you go," he advised, "and you want to be there for it. But if you tell her afterwards, she'll have to send you to the infirmary. Lie about your symptoms a little; tell them you feel nauseous, groan a little, stuff like that. They'll have to let you stay over. Then what you do, is you go to sleep. You go to sleep, and you let them hear you scream. The night staff, they ignore it because they're so used to hearing stuff like that in the middle of the night, but if the nurse hears you maybe they'll at least move you out of here faster. Psychological distress, that kind of thing really lights a fire under them. But…Dick, right?"

"Yes."

"Whatever you do, Dick" Caleb said seriously, his uncovered eye shining with warning, "_don't_ let them bring you back to this room after you see your parents off, okay? You _really, really_ need to go to the infirmary instead."

"I…okay?" he agreed, confused. _…What if they won't take me to the infirmary? What if Miss Linda's busy or something?_ he wondered. _Why shouldn't I come back here?_

"Just do what I said, Dick," the teen said gently. "…Trust me, it'll be a lot better that way."

**Author's Note: Tomorrow we get to see what Bruce has been doing all this time. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Chapter 8

Bruce rose on Thursday morning and dressed in the somber charcoal suit that Alfred had laid out for him. The butler had made no objection when he was informed that his charge intended to go to the funeral for the dead aerialists, merely giving him a half-knowing, half curious look instead. It was the same glance that the billionaire had been receiving all week as he swung wildly back and forth between extremes regarding the boy, gung-ho about taking him in one hour and stating that it simply wasn't a viable option the next.

The battle had been far from even, with inviting Dick to live at the manor taking a firm lead in terms of which emotion Bruce felt more frequently. His rages against the idea were much more intense, however, and left him feeling unsettled; as he carried his jacket down the stairs, he was still at a loss as to what he should do. The two sides of his indecision were locked in an ever-escalating race, and as soon as one seemed to take a commanding lead, the other upped the ante with some new point or heart-rending memory.His waffling was likely to be made worse after he saw the boy today, he knew, especially if he wasn't being taken care of properly.

_Maybe it won't be like that, though,_ he mused._ If they gave him a different case worker, things may have gone okay for him since the other night. If they got him to a good counselor or psychologist and into a smaller home with only a few other children… hell, he might even have a foster family already. He's a smart kid, polite, good-looking, healthy, so why __wouldn't__ people looking to take in a kid want him?_

It was wishful thinking, but he didn't allow himself to acknowledge that as he sat down to a light breakfast. The social services department in Gotham was an absolute train wreck; one needed only to look at the number of state wards who graduated straight from the various city welfare institutions into a life of crime to see that. Not a night passed, Bruce was certain as he stirred up his egg yolk pensively, that Batman didn't send several alumni of the system to cool their heels behind penitentiary bars. _He can't turn into one of them_, he swore, his fork hovering halfway to his lips. _He just __can't__. He's different now, but how long will it take for him to break? How long before the only future he sees open to him is a dark one? _

"…Sir?"

"Huh? Oh. Morning, Alfred," he mumbled, shoving a bite into his mouth and chewing distractedly. "What is it?"

"I was merely going to comment on the rapid cooling that breakfast foods tend to do when they are neglected," the butler replied. "But I see you're taking steps to remedy that." This was not the first food he'd found his charge ruminating over rather than ingesting during the past few days, and as such he'd begun checking on him more frequently than usual after he'd served him. _He won't eat it if it's cold, and I'll not see him go to what will no doubt be an emotional memorial on an empty stomach,_ he determined. _While I am grateful that he took my advice in regards to giving heavy thought to what he proposed on Saturday night, I wish he could debate with himself without it affecting his mealtimes._

"…You should come with me this morning."

"Pardon me, Master Wayne?" the Englishman asked, raising an eyebrow. _Surely I misheard that._

"I'd like you to meet him." _I want your opinion,_ he didn't add. _Am I deluding myself, even a little? Am I seeing him as more than he really is simply because of the intense connection I felt under that tree? I know there's far more involved in raising a child than I could even start to imagine, Alfred, and you have a much better idea than I do what I'd be getting myself into, especially considering all of the…extra…things I'm involved with. I know it will be hard; the question is, will it be worth it? You'll know, because I think you once asked yourself the same question about me, albeit from a different perspective. Come with me. Meet him. _He smiled down at his sausages. _Be dazzled._

"…I'm not entirely certain that this would be the proper venue for such an introduction to be made, sir," Alfred replied. "The boy certainly won't be at his best, and it will only confuse him if he is asked to meet someone new, especially if nothing comes of the acquaintance down the road. Unless," he ventured slowly, "you've reached a decision?"

"I…" He sighed and shoved his plate away. "…I don't know. It's…today's going to make a big impact. I'm getting close," he promised, rising. "…And you're probably right about confusing him. It's better if you don't come with me."

"…You've barely eaten," the butler narrowed his eyes. "You can't possibly be finished. Was something wrong with it?"

"No. It was fine. I'll be home for lunch before I go into the office," he stated, turning to leave.

"Very well, sir," Alfred replied, displeased, as he cleared away most of the food he'd laid out a short while earlier. _Why do I have the feeling that you're going to arrive for your midday meal with a child in tow?_ he sighed silently. _Although I suppose in that case you might at least consent to __eat__ your lunch rather than play with it, if only to set a good example._

Batman had spent the past few nights investigating the untimely deaths of the people whose memorial he was heading to, and Bruce considered what he'd learned while he drove across town. It wasn't much, to his dismay, but between his informants and a few tidbits he'd managed to get from other criminals during his routine patrol duties he had ruled out all of the major crime bosses in Gotham. _Which leaves someone trying to make a name for themselves, _he mused, tapping his fingers on the wheel at a red light, _or someone who doesn't usually operate out of Gotham. We were technically in the city's jurisdiction, but the Newtown line was less than a quarter mile away, and they don't all care about things like that when they're looking to expand their territory._

The problem was that he was fairly unfamiliar with Newtown's underground. There wasn't much need for him to know it even half as intimately as he did Gotham's, since most of the city's petty criminals, hoodlums, and goons were home-grown. The big baddies, it was true, often arrived from elsewhere, but they usually came from further afield than the next valley over; to his knowledge, the nearest a serious contender for Gotham turf had ever been from was Bludhaven, and that was still two hour drive away. _So check out Newtown,_ he decided grimly as he made a final turn into the parking lot of a small cemetery at the base of the hills. _I'm not letting this case go cold, and I'm not letting whoever's behind it get away. Dick deserves to have more closure than I got. _

A long line of battered but freshly washed vehicles stretched out in the row furthest from the gate, and since it seemed like a safe bet that they belonged to the circus folk he parked beside them. It was drizzling morosely on this side of town, and he grabbed the umbrella leaning in the passenger seat – _there goes Alfred knowing everything again,_ he shook his head fondly – before climbing out of the car. Passing into the rolling fields, he found the correct plot quickly, it's location given away by the large group that huddled in a semi-circle three deep around a hole over which twin coffins hovered. The billionaire spotted Haly easily, finding him deep in conversation with a notch-collared priest, and drew up to the pair.

"You _can't_ start without him here," the director pled. "Please, I know you're on a schedule, but…he's the one who needs this the most."

…_Dick must not be here yet,_ Bruce's eyes narrowed. _That social worker had better not be trying to keep him from coming. Haly's right, he needs to be here more than anyone. _"…Excuse me, Mr. Haly," he broke in politely. "Is there a problem?"

"…Mr. Wayne," the older man looked surprised. "I…I didn't expect to see you here."

"I felt I should pay my respects. I was also hoping to see Dick again, to be honest," he admitted. "But I take it he hasn't arrived yet?"

"No, I'm afraid he hasn't," the priest said, his lips tight as he extended his hand. "Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Wayne. I am Father Thomas. I must say, you've truly blessed this city with your good works."

Bruce barely controlled his start. _Oh, Jesus, of __course__ that would be the case, wouldn't it? Because this whole series of events isn't emotional enough, someone with __my__ father's name has to be the one to bury __his__ father. _"…Thank you," he managed, shaking. "You won't be starting until their son is here, I hope?"

"I'm booked the entire day today, I'm afraid, and the general non-denominational service takes the entirety of the time I can allot for this service. We really do need to begin in order to get through it all."

"Wait!" Haly held out a hand suddenly. "There he is, with that…" he trailed off, glancing at the priest and then to the coffins. "…That woman from social services," he finished with an unhappy expression.

Indeed, two figures were moving up the closest path, the taller shape clucking at the shorter in annoyance as he saw the assembly ahead and slowed. Bruce felt the circus director take a half-step forward, as if to go forth and rescue the boy, then fall back. In the crowd, Soraya was being restrained by a pair of strong-looking men who kept their hands on her elbows. _…It's going to get ugly when this is over and the social worker tries to take him away,_ the billionaire thought. _I can't blame her for being unhappy, but the last thing Dick should be seeing today is someone he loves being led from his parents' funeral in handcuffs._

His concern shifted focus as the child drew near enough for his features to be discerned. _…So much for dreamless sleep,_ he sighed bitterly to himself, observing his extreme pallor and the smudgy black stains above his cheeks. _I'm guessing they didn't find anyone for you to talk to, the bastards. You would think they would know how to handle a grieving kid, with as many as they have come through, but evidently not._

A moment later the boy's unhealthy appearance was picked up on by everyone else, and a little murmur ran through the group. Soraya's guards' hands slackened, partially from shock and partially by design, leaving her free to stride forward. She didn't so much as look at the CPS agent, keeping her attention wholly on Dick as she bent down, scooped him up, then turned on her heel and carried him back to the rest of the circus. Seeing the unpleasant looks being sent her way by almost everyone present – even Father Thomas glanced at her with a hesitant discomfort – the social worker stopped a prudent distance away, locking her gaze to her charge and keeping it there.

The lead mourner was borne to the front of the crowd and set down on his feet. His eyes widened as they found the coffins, now only a few feet away, then dropped to the ground as his lower lip was pulled back between his teeth and worried. A ring-heavy hand landed on his shoulder, but he didn't look up, and after a moment Soraya nodded to Haly.

"…I think we're ready now," the director relayed to the priest.

"Then let's begin," he nodded.

The service was a brief one, artfully edited by the man leading it to fit the short amount of time he had left to give to this particular burial. It was a task he'd undertaken many times before, and years of practice had polished his knack for speaking solemn sentences over the dead. His brevity was resented by some, who would curse it around their small dining tables and warm campfires later that night as having been instigated by the _zhukli_ social worker, but Bruce was glad for it. _I don't think he could take a long ceremony,_ he pondered, watching the gently swaying boy. _…He looks like he's lost weight. He didn't really have any extra to give up…Still, nothing a few of Alfred's meals couldn't fix._

He frowned. _Damn it. This decision is __not__ made yet. It's a bad idea…I'll only hurt him. He should have someone better than me._ But what, he couldn't keep from asking himself as the priest stopped speaking and closed his book, were the odds of someone – or anyone, really – actually taking him in? More importantly, could he wait that long? _Whatever they've been doing for him, it doesn't seem to be enough,_ the billionaire grimaced. _He needs better attention __now__, not in six months when someone can get around to it._

The social worker leapt immediately once the speech was done, coming forward with a disinterested expression. "Richard. We're leaving," she directed him imperiously as her fingers clamped down on the shoulder Soraya wasn't occupying. "_Ugh,_ you're soaked. Let's _go_, before you get any wetter."

"I'm not done," he whispered, trying to stand his ground and wincing as her yanking left bruises. The fortune teller's hand tightened on the other side, although her grip was carefully kept light enough so as not to hurt him.

"I said we're _leaving_. You're lucky you even got to come, now let's _go_."

He tore away from her violently, skipping nimbly over Soraya's feet and stopping out of the CPS agent's reach with his fists balled. Raising a face wet with mingled tears and precipitation, he glared. "And I said I'm _not done_!"

There was a moment during which the only sounds were those of the rain on the coffins and a couple of birds singing to one another in the distance. Every eye was fixed on the players in the impasse, flitting their attention between Soraya and the social worker as they stared poisoned daggers at one another. Only Bruce watched Dick, whose pale, drawn face had gone hard. _…He's made his fists right. Huh. Most people automatically tuck their thumbs, but not him. Who taught him that?_

"You will do as I-"

"You need to stop." The billionaire spoke before he knew he was going to, and in an instant the crowd's focus had shifted onto him. "…He has every right to take a few minutes to say goodbye to his friends, and then to be alone with his parents for as long as he needs."

"I have forty other cases on my desk right now, Mr. Wayne," she reeled her temper in partway to speak to him. "Why _exactly_ do you think I should take time away from them to give to him?"

"Because it's common decency," he replied, letting his voice drop to something approaching a growl. _This is absurd. You can't drag him away from his parents' funeral. What is __wrong__ with you?_ His face taut, he closed the distance between himself and the child and handed him the umbrella. "Here. You don't want to catch a cold."

The social worker blinked several times, then gave a little _hmpf!_ and threw up her hands. "You have _exactly_ fifteen minutes before I expect you in the car," she told Dick in a tone that left no doubt as to whom she blamed for her public dressing-down.

"Thank you," he said in a quiet voice.

"You'd better be," she sneered, apparently taking the words to have been meant for her despite the fact that the boy's eyes had been riveted to Bruce since he'd first spoken. With that, she stomped away towards the parking lot, her low heels throwing up little sprays of water from the sodden grass.

The troupe filed reverently by the coffins and then past their young aerialist, each member saying farewell in their own way. Several whispered to him in Romany, a few spoke in English, and a wizened old woman hobbled close to pat his cheek and breathed a short sentence in what Bruce would have sworn was Spanish. Max, whom the billionaire remembered clearly from the other night, pulled the child into a massive hug that would have been capable of crushing him were the strongman not being studiously gentle. A slow, scattered line of people made their way towards the exit, several still crying and glancing backwards after they stepped away. Eventually only Pop Haly and Soraya remained other than Bruce, who remained at a respectful distance while the trio said their goodbyes.

"…You take care of yourself, all right?" the older man said, his joints creaking audibly in the humid air as he crouched down and studied the boy regretfully. "You'll land on your feet. You always have," he smiled wistfully. "Here," he seemed to remember something and reached into his pocket, pulling out a thick wad of bills in a plastic baggie. "Everybody pitched in. You keep this safe, and don't spend it unless you have to. Maybe you can use it to find your way back to us when you're older." Reaching up, he let his thumb ghost down Dick's damp cheek. "You'll always have a home at Haly's. Remember that."

"…I'll be out of practice," the boy said hoarsely, overwhelmed by the gesture and what it entailed for the people who were being forced to leave him behind.

"You'll pick it right back up in that case, guaranteed," the circus director said firmly. "You're a natural, just like your parents were. And until you feel ready to perform, there's always plenty of other stuff that needs doing. If nothing else, you can help feed the elephants."

"I didn't get to say goodbye to them…"

"We'll make sure they know all about everything. They'll understand that it wasn't your fault, and it couldn't be helped. They're smart like that, elephants are. You come back when you're old enough; they'll remember you. They're going to miss you almost as much as we are." Eyes brimming with tears, he stuck out his hand. "First you say goodbye like a man," he explained when Dick looked askance at him. Once he had enclosed much-smaller fingers in his own, he went on. "Then you say goodbye like family," he nearly sobbed, pulling him into a tight embrace. When they broke apart, the man rose, gave the boy a long look, and then turned away and moved to the coffins still sitting on their rails above the earth.

Now Soraya came forward. Bruce tensed, wondering if she was going to try and snatch him since the CPS agent wasn't present, but her demeanor was surprisingly calm. "Do you know vhat happened zhust now, dahlink, vhile I vas vith your parents?" she asked softly.

"What happened, Tanti?" he asked, curiosity piqued despite his despondency.

"Vell," she picked up his hands, pressing them together between her own so she could hold them without risking the cash falling. "I had a veesion."

The low whispering Haly had been aiming at the polished wood lids ceased at those words, and both men strained their ears, the circus director desperately, the billionaire with a sense of impropriety.

"I saw you, dahlink, in a goot home, vith people who loaved you so much. So much, Reeshurd. And you vere happy in zat place, and vith them. I sense you doink goot for ozer people," she stared deep into his eyes, "and I sense you as zee middle ov zee vorld for so many. So much loave…" She gave him a beautiful smile. "And you in zee middle of it, right vere you _should_ be." They shared a lingering hug that only ended when the fortune teller kissed the boy's forehead and regained her feet. "I vill see you again, dahlink. Many times. Yes?"

"…Okay, Tanti," he nodded, his lips smiling even though his eyes lacked faith. "I love you."

"I loave you too," she crushed him to her one more time. "And Reeshurd? Do not forget zee other ting. You _vill_ be zee greatest. I have seen."

To the amazement of all three males, once she had finished speaking to Dick she swept over and planted her feet in front of Bruce. "You need to stop beink so foolish," came in a voice so low that only the billionaire could hear it. "You haf a goot heart; leesten to it for vonce." She glanced over her shoulder. "…He has zee other problem. He tinks a beet too _much_ vith his heart. He has a goot head, but he forget to use eet sometime. Like you, and your heart. Head and heart; light and dark. Von iz not zee same vithout zee other, no?"


	9. Chapter 9

Dick watched Haly and Soraya retreat to the gates, his insides a jumble. _…I didn't think Tanti would go so easily,_ he thought. _I guess her vision really helped. I just hope it was __right__… _With that in mind, he glanced sideways to where Bruce still stood several feet away, giving him his space. "…Hi," he greeted softly. "I didn't…I didn't think you would come."

"It seemed appropriate," the billionaire replied a little stiffly. _I wanted to check on you, _he didn't say out loud. The fortune teller's words were still ringing in his ears. _'Head and heart, light and dark. One isn't the same without the other…'_ He tried to shove them aside for the moment, uncertain why they had struck him as strongly as they had and wanting to examine them later, but they lingered in the back of his mind. "I can leave you with them, if you'd like."

"No!" he answered quickly. _I've felt so alone since the last time I saw you. Nobody else knows how I feel… _"No. I…I'd like it if you stayed. Is that okay?"

"Of course it is. Whatever you're feeling right now, Dick…it's okay."

"…Thanks." He stared at the coffins for a long moment, then sniffled and looked back at his companion. "Do you want your umbrella back? Your clothes might not like the rain," he commented, noting the expensive look of everything the man was wearing.

Bruce examined him for a second, then closed the gap between them. Accepting the umbrella, he held it so that it shielded them both from what was quickly becoming a downpour. They exchanged a cautious glance, each seeming to re-measure the other in the grayish light of late morning. Finally the billionaire's hand dropped onto the boy's shoulder, and they returned their eyes to the reason they were here.

"…I don't even know how Pop paid for everything," Dick said after a while. "Let alone…" He trailed off, looking at the tight bundle of bills wrapped in plastic. "I shouldn't have taken this," he said suddenly. "They _need_ this. How are they going to get to the next town, or feed the animals until they get paid for their next performance?" He craned his head towards the parking lot, trying to see. "I have to give this back to them before they leave!"

"Stop, Dick. Stop," was ordered from above him as he tried to break free and run after the troupe.

"Please, Mr. Wayne, I have to-"

"_Stop._" Crouching down, Bruce encircled a light wrist with one hand. "They'll get to their next stop just fine. I promise," he swore when agonized blue eyes met his.

The struggling ceased. "…How do you know?"

"Well, I can't guarantee that they won't run into problems, but money won't be one of them. I _can_ promise that much." He left it at that, seeing no reason to enlighten him as to how much he'd transferred to the Haly's operating account or exactly how he'd tracked down the show's banking information to begin with.

"But…" _He's rich,_ Dick reminded himself. _And he could only make a promise like that if he had given Pop money…But why would he do that? He's already been really nice, he doesn't have to do anything else for us…_ He gulped as he realized that he was no longer an active part of the caravan. _For them._

"This isn't about them," the man said, grasping the nature of his confusion. "Or me. Or the social worker. This is about _you_. All of this," he waved his free hand to indicate the modest but handsome headstone and the two boxes before it.

A bolt of understanding flashed across the boy's face as he followed the gesture. "…The…um…the coffins," he managed to choke out, "and the marker…they're really nice."

"Good. I'm glad you like them."

"Way nicer than anything we could ever afford, especially with this left over," he held up the cash.

"They care for you, and they cared for your parents. People often do things they normally wouldn't when they care for someone."

"Sure," he nodded before continuing. "But…they literally _couldn't_ have paid for all of this. So…someone else must have." He gave the man in front of him a frank look. "…Mr. Wayne? Why? I don't understand."

…_Damn, kiddo, you're quick. _He sighed deeply, releasing the child's wrist now that he was confident he wouldn't take off after the troupe. "First of all, it's Bruce. Except around that, ah, _delightful_ woman who's acting as your caseworker," he amended. "You should probably still call me 'Mr. Wayne' in front of her."

Dick could well imagine what her response would be if she overheard him using the rich man's first name. _She'd probably put me in __adult__ jail as punishment,_ he shuddered. "…Okay. Bruce."

"Good. Second…I suppose I did it partly because I 'understand,' as you put it the other evening. There were a lot of people who cared for them; the financial status of those people shouldn't be the only factor in how your parents' lives are memorialized. It didn't seem right that they be given a charity funeral."

"No offense, but…it still _is_ a charity funeral."

"It isn't," he shook his head. "It's more of a…a show of gratitude, I suppose."

"For what?" he cocked his head to the side.

"…For the fact that I finally met someone who understands, too."

_Oh. Me. _"…All that time, and you never did before?"

"No. Never." _Not until you. I can't explain it._

"…Wow." He looked down at the ground. _That's so sad. How did you deal with it all? I mean…talking to you makes me feel a __lot__ better, just because I know that you've been there, and felt these same things, and won't judge me for them. I don't want to think about what this would be like if you weren't so nice, or if I hadn't met you at all… _"I'm sorry."

_I probably should be, too,_ Bruce bit back. _But I'm not. If I'd met someone who understood earlier, then meeting you might not have meant as much to me as it seems to have, and...well…shit. _"Dick," he shifted slightly on the balls of his feet, "listen. I know you don't know me, but…" _Offer. No, don't! Not until Alfred meets him. But he looks so awful…the sooner he's out of the system, the better. Not if you move him in and then change your mind, though, like Alfred said. Christ. I don't know what to do. This is __hard__._ "…Would you mind telling me how they're treating you? Are you doing okay? I'd like the truth, not whatever they might have told you to say. If they aren't giving you what you need, maybe I can help."

"…You've already done so much," he shook his head. _Too much. You don't even __know__ me…_ His eyes traveled back to the coffins, still gleaming despite the courses of water running down their lids. _But because you've done so much for me, it would be even worse than usual if I lied to you after you asked for the truth. I can't tell you where they put me, though, or you might think I really __am__ a bad kid, and then you won't want to see me anymore, and…and I don't have anyone else to talk to. Well, maybe Caleb, but…I don't know about that yet. I just met him. I just…I just feel so alone, and you're the only person not from the circus who's done anything more than say pretty things…_

He stood no chance of holding back his sobs as everything – grief, fear, loneliness, uncertainty, hunger, anger, _everything_ – that he'd been trying to hold back since the night of the performance avalanched over him. At the first hitch in his breath, he saw the man beside him – _Bruce,_ he reminded himself – reach for his shoulder, then hesitate. After that he didn't see anything, closing his eyes in a useless last-ditch attempt to rein himself in, but he felt the pause end suddenly. A moment later he was pulled gently into an embrace, and had he bothered to look then all he would have found in front of him was the wide charcoal expanse of an exceedingly fashionable lapel.

…_Why does hearing him like this make __me__ want to cry?_ the billionaire thought moodily as he rubbed the child's back in the same soothing circles that Alfred had always used on him. _Cry, and punch people. _He'd seen plenty of others, children included, shed tears, often to the point of hysterics, but they had never made him struggle to hold back sympathetic tears. Usually he already wanted to punch people in those situations, so it was difficult to judge if that desire was truly caused by the low wails being muffled against his throat, but…_but I have a hunch that it is. It's him. I don't know why, but it's __him._

"Okay," he murmured a few minutes later when Dick seemed to be winding down. "Okay. Hush."

"'M sorry…"

"No," he corrected him. "Don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. You have every right to cry over this, Dick. Don't ever let anyone tell you different. Listen," he pushed him back just enough to see his face, streaked with tears and snot. "When you need to cry about your parents, _do it_. It doesn't make you weak, it just makes you feel better. And that's important. Okay?" _Don't do what I did. Don't bottle it up and let it eat you from the inside. Don't let it make you unable to express your emotions. Please._

The boy looked at him for a long time. _I can't. They'll hurt me if I do. But…but I can't tell you that, because you've already done so much for me…_ "Okay," he nodded slowly. "I'll try." _There. Now it isn't really a lie, if I say I'll try and then I really __do__, at least when no one else is around._

"Good." His hands refused to release the shoulders they rested on, and for a moment they just stared at each other, frozen in place.

"…Did anyone ever tell you," Dick sniffled finally, "that you give really good hugs?"

His tone was so sincere that Bruce couldn't prevent a small smile from gracing his lips. "No," he chuckled. "You're the first one."

"Oh. Well, you could be, like, a professional. For people in hospitals and stuff."

The billionaire coughed to cover up his inappropriate amusement at the vision of Batman volunteering to give out hugs at Gotham Memorial. _It would probably scare the ones in the hospital __because__ of Batman into heart attacks,_ he bit the insides of his cheeks. _…This has to stop, I'm in front of his parents' coffins for Christ sake!_

"…Is that funny?" Dick asked cautiously, looking befuddled.

"Ah…it is, but…I can't explain why. Suffice it to say that I'm not a very warm person." _…In fact,_ he didn't add, _I'm fairly certain that I've given you more non-passionate embraces than anyone else living, besides Alfred. Not that that's really saying much, considering that I've given you exactly one – two, if you count the other night, but you instigated that one – but it's still a pretty big development._ He broke off as he realized that the boy was giving him an incredulous look. "What's wrong?"

"How can you say that?"

"What? That I'm not a warm person?"

"Yeah. That. I mean, you did…all of this," he indicated the twin coffins and the grave marker, "and you weren't even going to tell anyone, were you?"

"No. I wasn't," he admitted. _There was no need. Besides, you might have taken it as me using your personal tragedy to benefit my reputation if I'd just mentioned it in passing, and even if that were something I could bring myself to do it still wouldn't be the way I'd want you to think of me._

"…Huh. Well, I think you're a warm person," he shrugged. "Even if you don't. And you really _do_ give good hugs." He swallowed hard and looked away. "Actually, they…they kind of remind me of the way my dad hugs. Hugged. Not to be weird or anything," he added quietly.

…_Oh, that's not good,_ the billionaire thought as he felt his lip quiver slightly. "…Is that what you were aiming for?" he asked a bit more roughly than he'd intended. "Another hug?"

His eyes went wide. "I wasn't 'aiming' for anything," he whispered. "Honest, Mr. Wayne. I just…I just remembered, that's all."

_Bruce Wayne, you colossal fucking idiot,_ he shook his head at himself. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded," he apologized. "…If you'd like another, I'm…not opposed."

"…Really?"

"Yeah." To his mild surprise, he wasn't just lying to make him feel better.

"That would be really nice right now," Dick blushed.

"Well, then, come here," he drew him close. There was a tiny sigh beside his ear, and his arms tightened in response. They stayed that way, rocking slightly back and forth, until he spotted a figure approaching them at a quick rate. "Someone's coming," he said, letting go.

"…Oh. Okay." He pulled back and turned to see who was interrupting them. "…That's not her. The mean lady," he peered through the rain.

"You're right, it isn't," Bruce looked along with him. He'd shifted to his knees during their long conversation, and as he rose to his feet he noted the soaked state of his pants from the knees down. _…Alfred will kill me if that leaves stains,_ he grimaced. _But then, he might let me off the hook if I tell him I was too busy giving out hugs to notice. No, he'll think I hit my head on something. Shit. Well, not much I can do about it now._

"Howdy, folks," the person greeted when they were close enough to be heard over the now-torrential downpour. "Sorry about the delay. Rain's playing havoc with the equipment." He gave the rails under John and Mary Grayson an expert glance from under the hood of his raincoat. "These ones shouldn't act up, they're the new ones," he nodded happily. "…Oh," he said guiltily as he noticed Dick looking between him and coffins with an expression of mild panic. "If you're not done, I can come back," he offered kindly. "It's no problem, you can take all the time you need."

"…Dick?" Bruce asked softly, hunching back down to his level.

"…Just one thing, real fast?" he whispered fervently.

"Of course. Give us a minute, would you?" he directed to the cemetery worker.

"You bet. I'll just wait off to the side here and mind my own business." With that, he moved several dozen feet away, turning so as to give them privacy.

"Do you want me to do what he did, so you can have a minute alone with them?" the billionaire queried.

Dick furrowed his brow, considering. "…No. It's okay." _He won't be able to hear me, and that's the really important part,_ he thought as he moved to step out into the storm. _I know what I want to do now. _A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked up.

"Take this with you," Bruce insisted, trying to hand him the umbrella. _You're probably already going to get sick from being wet in this cold air._ He frowned internally. _When did I start channeling Alfred? _

"No," he refused. "Thanks, but it'll just get in my way." The fingers at the top of his arm tightened briefly, then vanished, leaving him free to continue. Reaching his mother – he checked the script on the stone to be sure it was her that he leaned over first – he began to speak. "…Hi, Mama," came slowly. "I know…I know we always talked about how…how something like this might happen, during a performance or practice or set-up, but…but I don't want you to go. To be gone, I guess. It's not fair; it wasn't even an accident, Mr. Wayne – Bruce, I mean – said." A tear slipped from his eyelashes onto the polished lid, camouflaging itself perfectly to match the million other little drops of moisture already there. "It makes me angry. But…you always told me not to hold grudges. I want the people who did this to get caught, and to be punished, but…I'm going to try to forgive them, too. I don't know if I can, but…I'll try. I know it's what you would want me to do, and I want to make you proud." He sniffed. "I love you so much, Mama. I promise I won't forget what you taught me." With that, he bent forward and brushed a soft kiss against the wood.

He stood over his father a moment later, nearly choking on the heavy lump he had to swallow before he could speak. "Dad? I…you probably heard what I said to mom, so…yeah. I just…I keep thinking about what you say all the time. Said. Said all the time. About…about the unbroken line of Grayson aerialists, ever since back when the first Richard flew for Queen Elizabeth? And I can't stand it, because they won't let me stay with the circus. How…how am I going to keep the line going? Pop Haly said I can come back to the circus when I'm older, but…I can't practice, not really. I'll be no good by then, even if I am a natural like he says. You always told me to practice, and then practice some more when I was done, and to never give up, but how can I do either of those things here? I feel like I'm letting you down, even though I know it isn't really my fault." He swiped at his eyes. "Tanti says I'm going to be the best, but…well, sometimes even _her_ visions are wrong. I'll never be as good as you were, not without you to teach me. I'm going to try, daddy, I really am, but I don't know how it will ever be enough." He paused. "I don't want you to be ashamed of me. I know you _weren't_, but…you were so proud of it, of that unbroken line. I don't want to let you down. I'm gonna try not to, but…please don't be too ashamed of me if I do." He bent once more to press his lips against the lid. "…I love you so much, dad," he whispered just before he moved away.

The billionaire tried not to watch, but he couldn't keep himself from taking surreptitious peeks from under his eyebrows. He had no interest in knowing what it was that Dick was saying as he leaned low over each box in turn and moved his mouth; that was between him and his parents, as it should be. His spying was instead purely out of concern that the already weakened child might be overwhelmed again and require further comforting. Nevertheless, after he saw a light kiss be planted at the head of Mary's final bed he didn't dare look away lest he miss the same gesture being repeated for John. _I wish I'd been able to have a last moment like that,_ he lamented. _Between the cameras and the fact that I was far less in control of myself at that point than he is now, though…it just wasn't possible. Damn. I should go visit them. It's been a while…_

Straightening, the boy walked over to where the cemetery employee still stood in the rain. They exchanged a few words, then separated, the man moving to the rails as Dick returned to Bruce. "…Can we wait until he's done?" he requested.

"Absolutely," he nodded once, making sure that the umbrella was centered over the once-again dripping youth. They watched silently as the hydraulic racks lowered the coffins one at a time. Only once they were out of sight did Bruce speak. "…You never answered me earlier."

"…Huh?" he inquired distractedly.

"About where they have you staying."

"Oh…" He scuffed his feet. "…It's okay, I guess." _Nobody's hit me. Yet._ "I have a nice roommate." _I think. I've only exchanged about five sentences with him because he got his face smashed the day I showed up. _"They said I'm probably not going to be there very long. They're going to move me." _They __said__ they were, but…I think the CPS lady likes keeping me there, so maybe they won't, after all. Maybe…maybe I'm stuck there._

Something about Dick's posture made Bruce think that he fudging the truth, but before he could do anything more than begin to frown a shrill voice hailed them. "Does the phrase 'fifteen minutes' mean _nothing_ to you?" the social worker flailed as she rushed across the lawn. "Mr. Wayne, I'm surprised. Do you know what kind of a lecture I'm going to get if he comes down with pneumonia from all of this ridiculousness?"

"…It's a funeral," he replied rigidly. "There are few things in the world that are further from 'ridiculous,' especially for those who have to go on living."

"Nevertheless, he was due back at the Center already. And there's even more reason to hurry now," she shot a look at Dick as he unconsciously shuffled closer to the man beside him. "Come, Richard, we'll discuss it in the car."

"I'll walk you," Bruce offered immediately. "There's no point in his getting any wetter."

"You might note I have an umbrella of my own. He'll be fine. Richard!" she barked, scandalized by what she looked down to find the boy doing.

Dick tugged softly at the billionaire's jacket sleeve. "…Can you hold onto…you know…for me?" he asked shyly, the money still clutched in his fingers. "I want to know it's safe." _Plus, it means I'll get to see you again sometime, because I'll have to get it back from you._

He nodded immediately and palmed the baggie so that the CPS agent didn't have time to see what it was. "I'll make sure no one touches it," he promised solemnly, tucking it into his pocket.

"What was that?!"

"It was a gift from my friends," the child answered flatly. "I asked Mr. Wayne to hold onto it, since the other kids might try to take it away if they see."

"You can't-" was all she could manage under the icy look the rich man leveled at her. "There's no time for this! Come with me. Good_bye, _Mr. Wayne," she shot him a tight-lipped smile as Dick moved reluctantly to her.

"Bye," Dick threw back hurriedly as he was directed forward by a hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades.

Bruce watched them vanish in the direction of the gate, troubled. _Something isn't right. He's covering something up, but…is it just the standard poor quality of Gotham social services accommodations? It could be; from what I understand the group homes are like nothing he's likely to have ever experienced before. If it isn't just that, though…what else could it be?_ Setting his mouth firmly, he began his own trek to the parking lot. _There's only one thing to do; find out. I'm afraid your parents' murders will have to wait another night to be solved, Dick. Right now, I think you've given me a potentially more dire case to work on._


	10. Chapter 10

"…Good evening, sir," Alfred greeted, coming into the foyer when he heard the front door close. Choosing to ignore the grumble he received in place of a reply, he went on. "A package arrived for you this afternoon."

The billionaire frowned. "…What is it?"

"I've no idea, Master Wayne. It was labeled to you, from a local address," the butler informed him, taking his jacket. "…My goodness, is it still raining outside?" he asked as moisture met his fingertips.

"Yeah. It's hasn't let up since the funeral." He paused. "It's getting windy, too."

Alfred sighed. "Well, I suppose the trees in the yard will receive a bit of pruning from Mother Nature, then." _It's just as well; it saves me a bit of time on next week's task list._ "…The parcel is in your study. Shall I bring you something hot to drink? You must be chilled from the weather."

"That's fine, Alfred."

"Very good, sir," he nodded, heading for the kitchen once he'd hung the jacket up to dry. _Still no decision,_ he shook his head as he flipped on the coffeepot. _At least, the look in your eyes hasn't changed to indicate that you've reached one. If the issue would just conclude itself, perhaps I could stop worrying about your eating habits…_

As he'd said he would, Bruce had returned to the manor for his mid-day meal, at which he had merely picked. Had he not had a series of meetings scheduled for the afternoon, he would have called out of the office in order to try and get to the bottom of the worrisome fibbing he suspected Dick had done that morning. Instead, he spent the rest of the day tuning out earnings reports and receiving odd looks from Lucius when he failed to keep up with the conversation. He couldn't help it; Soraya's words, the boy's willingness to let him stay through the entirety of his graveside grieving, and the divide in his own mind all kept him distracted from business matters.

Entering the study now, only the paper-wrapped package diverted him from his adoption quandary. _…I'm not expecting anything in the mail,_ he regarded it suspiciously as he circled the desk with measured steps. Not particularly keen on the idea of opening the thing only to have it explode in his face - something that he wouldn't put past some of his shadier business rivals - he opened his laptop and ran a quick search on the return address. _…Gotham Social Services?!_ His eyebrows drew together. _What the hell would __they__ be sending me?_

He tore into the box, his hands stilling when they brushed wool. _…The jacket. They made him send the jacket back._ As he lifted it out and set it aside, an envelope fell to the floor. _And a note. Maybe it's from Dick,_ he thought hopefully, picking it up and pulling out a single piece of correspondence stock.

It most certainly was _not_ from Dick, he realized as soon as he unfolded the paper. "…That _bitch,"_ he hissed, absorbing the sentiments between the lines.

"If you're still considering bringing a child into this house, sir, I would advise that you attempt to curb your gutter language," Alfred advised, entering at that exact moment with a cup of coffee in his hands. "It sets a rather poor example for a young gentleman to follow."

"It was justified," Bruce rebutted. "Read this," he shoved the foul letter over.

Setting the mug down, the butler accepted the note and watched his charge stomp to the window before he read:

_Dear Mr. Wayne,_

_ I confiscated this jacket from the circus boy on Saturday night. He stated that you let him borrow it, which would be in keeping with your usual reputation for philanthropy, but I don't imagine that you meant for him to keep it long-term. I'm sure neither of us is really shocked that he 'forgot' to return it to its rightful owner, given his background. I apologize for not having noticed that he had it sooner; hopefully you haven't been too inconvenienced._

_ I checked it over for damages, etc., but found none. My guess is that he didn't have time to destroy it. Rest assured that he will be rehabilitated as much as is possible for a child with such a dubious upbringing. To be honest, I personally don't hold out much hope, but we'll do our best._

_Warmest regards,_

_Margine Randall_

_Lead Caseworker_

_Gotham Child Protective Services_

Alfred's eyebrows were raised by the time he replaced the letter in its envelope. _This social worker certainly must have taken a disliking to the boy, to have not even referred to him by name in her note. Her accusations seem unfounded at best; I cannot imagine that a child who had just a few hours earlier witnessed the sudden deaths of his parents would calculate a theft. Even setting that aside, judging from what Master Wayne said the other night he doesn't come from people who would condone petty crime, let alone purposefully instruct their offspring in such acts._

"…Can you believe that prejudicial bullshit?" Bruce asked, still staring into the storm. "Dick's not a thief. Hell, he didn't even want to keep the money Haly gave him, and that was from people he's known his entire life. And I could tell he was caught off guard by the funeral arrangements, too, once he figured out who had taken care of them."

"'Figured out,' sir?"

"Yeah. I didn't tell him I paid for it all; he came to that conclusion on his own." He turned back into the room. "…He's smart, Alfred. Scary smart. And I've never felt so instantly comfortable talking to anyone else before. Not…not even to you." He gave him a mildly apologetic look.

"It's quite all right, Master Wayne," the butler said gently. "I can hardly fault you for having made a deep connection with another human being." _After all, I've only been hoping you would do so for going on twenty years,_ he kept to himself. "It sounds, then, as if I should prepare a room? Near to your own, I would think."

"I…I don't know." He dropped heavily into the desk chair and covered his face with his hands. "I want to bring him here, Alfred. I really do. But…I'm not the right person for this. I'm nothing like his parents, or the others with the troupe…they were so warm with him. I'll never be able to be like that." _No matter what he might say to the contrary,_ he thought despairingly. "I can never give him the home he deserves."

"I believe that most parents who love their children feel the same at one time or another, sir. You'd hardly be alone in that sentiment, were you to decide to go forward with this." _Look at you. This has practically driven you to tears. You care deeply for this boy, whether you're ready to admit it or not. That miraculous fact makes me think that perhaps, for once, prudence was not the road I should have advised you to take. This is a risky proposition for you regardless of how much thought you put into it first, after all; certainties can change in an instant, as we both know. I ought to have just let you run with your first instinct. I cannot make the decision for you, of course, but maybe I can help you choose what I now believe to be the better path. _

"…There is no such thing as a perfect home, nor as a perfect parent," he continued slowly. "You've always striven for perfection, and you've always had difficulty acknowledging that oftentimes perfection is unattainable, not just for yourself, but for everyone. I understand your fears, sir, truly I do, but I think the time for self-searching is at an end. If you are going to act, you must do so very soon. If you are feeling this connection between the two of you so strongly, then you must assume that he is as well. You've now interacted with him twice; if you meet with him a third time and make no move to establish a more permanent situation, you'll only leave him confused and rejected."

_And I don't want that,_ Bruce moaned to himself. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "Logically, I've already wasted way too much time even considering the proposal. But it won't go away. I feel like he belongs here, but it doesn't make _sense_."

"If I may, sir," Alfred said, giving the top of the desk an uncharacteristically deep frown, "the most difficult choices are usually best made with one's heart at the forefront. With all due respect to common sense and rationality, perhaps in this situation you ought to do what seems _right_ rather than what seems _safe_."

The billionaire gaped. "…You're the one who taught me to guide myself with logic," he breathed. "Now you want me to ignore it?"

"I'm well aware that I taught you that, Master Wayne," the Englishman answered a bit curtly. "What I evidently forgot to pass along – perhaps because at that point I'd misplaced the lesson myself, I'm not sure – was that no single philosophy will serve every moment or every aspect of a well-rounded life. Logic has done Batman and Wayne Enterprises much good, to be sure; but what has it done for _you_?" He was silent for a moment. "…I'll leave you with that, sir. Do call down if you need anything."

After Alfred had gone, Bruce stared at the crumpled box for a long time. _'Follow your heart.' Everyone keeps saying that, but…it's such a delicate thing, the heart. I don't think I'm wrong for wanting to protect mine. At the same time, though, what chance does __his__ have if he spends the next ten years – hell, the next ten days, even – in a CPS facility? And…well…maybe his heart is worth saving, even if it is at the cost of my own._ Letting a long breath out, his eyes narrowed. _Where did that nasty woman send you, kiddo?_

The only way he was likely to find out was through the social services data banks, which he'd already hacked several times over the past few days. Descending to the cave, he broke in again and clicked his way easily to Dick's digital file. "…Nothing? Really?" he sighed exasperatedly. The page was sparse; his name, age, height and weight, and a brief rundown of how he'd come to be a ward of the state stood out starkly amongst the otherwise empty fields. _They've had him for going on a week, and that's the most they could be bothered to find out?_ he glared at the screen. _His birthday isn't even listed. You'd think that would be the first thing they'd have asked, if only to make sure they didn't feed him a day past when he turns eighteen._

Surprised that the account didn't at least list where he was being kept, the billionaire turned to the institutional rosters accessible from another portion of the site. _…I didn't realize there were so many group homes,_ he gave a mental gasp as he saw how long the list was. _There must be two hundred separate locations._ _Jesus. _Setting his jaw, he clicked on the first address and began to scroll through the current residents, reading every name just in case there had been a spelling error.

At some point Alfred appeared with a plate of warm pasta, leaving it at his elbow without speaking a word. "Thanks," Bruce mumbled, his eyes never leaving the screen. Fumbling for the fork with his unoccupied hand, he managed to get a few bites into his mouth before losing interest. His desperation grew inversely to how many facilities were left to be checked, and as he reached the bottom of the final roll call he felt his eyes growing hot. _Where __are__ you? _Thinking back, he recalled hearing someplace called 'the Center' mentioned. _…Well, I'll double check anything with that word in it, then,_ he decided, going back to the top of the list to conduct a more pointed search. _Although you said they were going to move you…_

By midnight, his eyes were grainy and his patience was spent. _And I __still__ haven't found him_. _He has to be __somewhere__ in the CPS system,_ he shook his head agitatedly. _Even if they're considering him transitory since he's so new, wouldn't he have to be listed so that they can keep track of his whereabouts? This makes no sense, and there are too many places for me to even begin to check on foot tonight. That means that the soonest I can find out where he is for sure is tomorrow morning. _"Fuck!" he exclaimed to the room at large.

"Does Alfred know you curse like that when you're alone?" an amused-sounding voice came from behind him.

_Oh, great. Clark. _"Go away," he grumbled. "…And how did you get in here without being announced?"

"I _was_ announced," the other man informed him, leaning against the counter beside him with a slight frown. "…Now I _know_ you're sick, if you missed a meeting _and_ didn't hear the Zeta introduction."

…_Heartsick, maybe,_ the billionaire grimaced. _Up until the last few days, I never believed that was actually a thing. Apparently, I was wrong._ _Wait…meeting?_ "What meeting?"

"It's Thursday. What do you mean, 'what meeting?'"

"…Oh. I…forgot." _Oh, shit, I actually forgot. I got so caught up in everything with Dick…I mean, with the case…_ "Why do we have them in the middle of the week, anyway? We should move them to the weekends. Some of us have regular work schedules, you know," he pointed out with more bitterness than he truly felt.

"You're your normal, cheerful self this evening," he sighed, pulling over a chair and sitting down. "…Big case?"

"Double murder," Bruce answered vaguely.

"…Not of kids?" Superman asked, glancing at the screen concernedly.

"No. Not of kids."

"Then why are you looking at the roster lists for Gotham Child Protective Services?"

"None of your business."

The Kryptonian observed him for a long, silent moment before speaking. "…What's going on, Bruce?"

"Nothing's 'going on,'" he made sarcastic air quotes. "I'm busy."

"You're different," the other man stated quietly.

"…What?" he turned with a startled expression. _What the hell does __that__ mean?_

"You're worried about something. Or…someone," his eyes flashed to the monitor once more.

"No," the billionaire replied brusquely. "I'm not."

"Your heart rate and respiration are up. They have been for a while, I'd say, based on the fact that you're sweating." He tried to look innocent under a full glare. "Bruce. Come on, don't play this game. We both know something's changed since last week."

_He's not going to drop this. _"…If I tell you, will you leave me alone to do my work?"

"Either that, or offer to help," he shrugged. "Whatever seems most appropriate at that point."

"…Fine." With a gargantuan sigh, he launched into a pared-down version of events, leaving out his more emotional moments and focusing on the facts. "…So his social worker seems to hate him," he concluded after several minutes. "…And I seem to…well…to _not_ hate him."

"…Whew," Superman half-whistled.

"Yeah. 'Whew.'" Now that he'd spilled the story, and with it some of his tension, he was in less of a hurry for the other man to leave. "I don't know. Every time I think I know what to do, I swing back the other way."

"That sounds exhausting."

"Pretty much. And I'm still no closer to an answer."

"…You're kidding me, right?" the Kryptonian queried. "Bruce, think about what you just told me. Really think about it."

"I've _already_ thought about it. Two people have already told me today that I'm _over_thinking it."

"No, I mean…you've _never_ told me something like that before, and I have never seen you legitimately worried about anything less earth-shatteringly huge than planetary destruction. Until tonight, that is." He gave him a considering look. "This kid really got to you."

"…Yeah," Bruce looked away. "…I guess he did."

"Then I don't understand the problem."

The billionaire gave a derisive snort. "Clark, as much as it pains me to say this, you know me better than probably anyone in the world other than Alfred." _And, for all that I've spent a grand total of two hours with him, possibly Dick,_ he didn't add. "…That being the case, how can you _not_ understand the problem?"

_Ah. The 'dark side' issue. _"…We both know that what you're worried about isn't the real you, Bruce. But I think the real you wants this. And I think the real you will fight for it a lot harder than you're giving yourself credit for."

"…Maybe. But I can't guarantee that."

"Who can guarantee anything?" He stood up. "…Look, think of it this way. If nothing else, you'd be giving him a home with someone who's been through some of the same things that he has. What's more, Alfred has experience dealing with…well…emotionally distraught children," he phrased carefully. "And he didn't do a half-bad job the first time around, so…"

"So _what_?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

The Kryptonian gave him a chiding look, then shook his head and dropped one hand briefly onto his shoulder. "I kind of hoped it would be obvious at this point, Bruce. _Go get him_." With an encouraging squeeze, he moved back to the Zeta tube. _If this kid can effect such a change in you so quickly, what else is he capable of?_ he wondered as he punched in a set of coordinates. Just before he vanished, he turned to find the billionaire staring at him pensively. _…I just hope you give yourself – and everyone else – the chance to find out._

When he was alone again, the billionaire rose from his chair and walked slowly over to where his costume hung. _This is insane,_ he told himself as he fingered the end of a sleeve. _But…maybe not the most insane thing I've ever done._ His gaze traveled around the cave, touching on a hundred little things that would never have been were it not for his audacity. Many of them had had a hand in saving countless innocent lives; almost all had saved his own at least once. _…Okay, Soraya, Alfred, Clark...you win this round. The question is, am __I__ strong enough to carry the whole fight?_

There was really only one way to find out, he supposed as he climbed the stairs and leaned into the kitchen. "…Alfred."

"Yes, sir?" the butler inquired, looking up from a bowl of dough.

"…The room across the hall and to the left of mine. It's the second biggest in that wing of the house, right?"

"It is, Master Wayne," he bit back a pleased smile. _Well. I see I haven't started this little baking project in vain, then. Good._

"Let's, ah…let's clean it up a little, okay? And I'd like you to come with me tomorrow; I don't want to sign anything until you've met him and…well…approved, I guess. You have to live with him, too, after all."

"I don't imagine that will be a problem, but very well." _I couldn't possibly object to any child who managed to get through to you to the point that you would even __consider__ taking him in, but if it will make you happy, I'll accompany you. It would probably easiest for the boy if I met him on neutral ground, in any case._

"Good. I'm going out." _I know it's fruitless to try and check all those group homes and other places on foot, but that doesn't mean I can't punch some people to make myself feel better until I can force that wench at CPS to tell me where he is. Maybe I can get a little closer to tracking down that specialty acid that was used on the trapeze wires…I might be able to sleep if I know I've made progress on something other than my own confusion._ He began to move away, then halted with a puzzled expression. "…What are you doing?"

Alfred glanced up again. "…I've never met a young person who didn't like chocolate chip cookies. I don't suppose he'll be the exception, do you?"

"I don't know. He seems to be the exception to everything else," he noted, leaning in to swipe a dollop of dough from the edge of the bowl. Ignoring the butler's raised eyebrow, he licked the mixture off of his finger. "…You're probably right, though."

"I do hope you won't make _that_ the first habit you teach him," Alfred said archly.

"No. The first habit I'll teach him," the corner of his lip moved up infinitesimally, "will be to remember that you know everything that goes on in this house."

"…I don't quite take your meaning, sir."

"You'd already started the cookies before I told you I'd made a decision. How did you know? You haven't made cookies since Christmas."

"Ah!" he exclaimed, understanding. "Call it a hunch, I suppose."

"…Huh," the billionaire mused, recalling his conversation with Dick under the tree on Saturday night. "Those seem to be going around lately, hunches."

"Useful things at times, I find."

"When they're right," he nodded. "…I won't be out late. We've got an early morning."

"The Child Protective Services office opens at eight o'clock, sir."

…_Of course you checked that, too. _"I want to be there by seven-thirty." _We'll beat her to her own office. And if she's not there at eight, I'll talk to her boss. Whoever it takes. He's not spending another night in…wherever they've got him sleeping._ "See you later, Alfred."

"Master Wayne."

"Yeah?"

His eyes rose with serious intent to those of his charge. "Be careful this evening. There's no call to make him parentless all over again."

"…That's not another hunch, is it?"

"No. Mere caution."

"…Right." With that, he disappeared back down the hall, headed for the clock.

_No hunch, Master Wayne,_ Alfred thought to himself as he poured in a generous portion of chocolate chips. _Just parental worry_, w_hich coincidentally is something that I believe you are soon to become very well acquainted with, if you haven't already done._

**Author's Note: I was going to wait until later in the story to bring Clark in, but it seemed appropriate here. Happy reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

"I want to make something clear to you right now," Dick's social worker snarled once they were safely away from the cemetery and enmeshed in traffic. "No matter what Mr. Wayne might have led you to believe, and no matter what that devious little brain of yours might think it's cooking up, there is no way that one of the richest men in the country wants anything to do with a thieving Gypsy like _you_. He was being polite today because it's good for his image, nothing more."

Trembling with cold in the backseat, Dick flinched. "Please don't call me that," he whispered. "It's…it's not a nice word."

Had they not already been stopped at a red light, the woman in the driver's seat would have slammed on the brakes. Robbed of that dramatic gesture, she stared at him in the rearview mirror with slitted eyes. "…What did you just say?" she asked dangerously.

"I…" _She heard me. She just doesn't care. Don't make her angry,_ he advised himself. "…Nothing," he bowed his head.

"I didn't think so," was sneered back. "When we get back to the Center," she went on smugly, "I've been told that you're switching rooms."

"…Switching rooms?" His eyes widened. "How come?"

"Because the police and the housekeeping staff are busy trying to clean up the mess your roommate left them. The room is uninhabitable right now."

"…I don't understand," he breathed slowly. "What's wrong with Caleb? What…what 'mess'?"

"None of your business."

"But didn't they-"

"What did I _just_ say?"

"…Sorry," he apologized, lapsing into silence. As unfamiliar buildings flashed by, distorted by the rivulets of rain coursing down the windows, he pulled his knees to his chest and tried to warm up. _I wish she'd turn the heat on back here,_ his teeth chattered as he stared outside. _But if I ask, she'll get mad at me again._ Knowing that, he simply wrapped his arms around himself and suppressed a cough when his throat began to tickle. _I hope Caleb's okay,_ he frowned. _I guess he must have told me to go to the infirmary because he was planning whatever it is that he did…still, why would he make a mess? I hope he didn't get in too much trouble for whatever it was that he did…_

His thoughts moved on to the CPS agent's words about Bruce. _…She can't be right about him, can she?_ he wondered desperately. _I mean…he's been so nice…and he came to the funeral, which he __paid__ for, and he stayed with me afterwards, and…I dunno. He seemed like he wanted to ask me something, but couldn't for some reason. Some people have a hard time saying what they really want to, mom says…said,_ he gulped as he corrected himself. _Maybe he's like that. Maybe there was something important he wanted to talk about, and he just couldn't. But if he wanted to ask me something like that, that means it can't have been just an act, right? He must…he must really like me?_

Not even his best logic could quite convince a small part of him that the social worker's assessment was incorrect, however. _If someone who understands doesn't want anything to do with me, no one else will, either,_ he realized. _…She'll probably leave me at the Center for the rest of my life if no one takes me in. And if she keeps telling people I'm a thief, who would want to bring me home? I can't blame them. I just wish she wasn't so mean, or at least not a liar. I've never stolen anything in my life!_

His chill and worry were only sufficient to override his utter physical exhaustion for so long. Before they were even halfway to their destination, his eyes slipped closed and his head fell forward. Although no full nightmares interrupted his dozing, a half-dozen strange specters lurked at the edges of his mind, poking their heads in just long enough to make him twitch before they retreated. When the car came to a rough halt in front of the fence, he awoke feeling as if he hadn't slept at all.

_ Ugh, my head hurts,_ he groaned silently as he climbed out and began the trek inside. The rain had stopped here, but the sidewalks still bore large puddles to mark the passage of the storm. _I think I really __do__ need to go to the infirmary. Not that I can tell __her__ that,_ he glanced over at the woman striding along slightly behind him, her fingers pinching the collar of his soaked jacket as if he might try to flee. _Miss Linda. I bet she'll listen. If I can just find someone who will get her for me…_

Inside, the agent left him sitting in the lobby under the uninterested eye of the same gum-chewing girl who had buzzed them back on his first day at the Center. "You will _stay_ in this seat," she instructed him sibilantly, then disappeared down the corridor. "_Watch_ him, Meredith," she snapped her fingers at the receptionist as she passed. "He's a sneaky one."

"Yes, ma'am," she straightened immediately and stared at the boy. As soon as the social worker was out of sight, however, she gave a little snort, blew a particularly large bubble, and went back to the society magazine she'd stuffed under the counter when the front door had opened.

Dick just looked at his knees, sneezing occasionally. He tried to keep his thoughts empty, but too much had happened already today, and a thousand stark images barged in behind his eyes. His parents' coffins, beads of moisture plopping off of the fine scrollwork as they sank irretrievably into the earth; Caleb's look of warning, something hopeless in depths of his eyes as he bade him go to the infirmary after the funeral; the hateful twist in the CPS agent's mouth as she labeled him with the 'G' word; that funny little expression Bruce had worn for a moment in the cemetery while they were talking. _…It was like he doesn't really smile much, and he couldn't quite remember how it went,_ the boy reflected. _That's sad, too. Everything about him is just…sad. I know why that is, but…I wish I could do something to help it, especially since he's done so much to help me._

"What're you doing out here, son?" a tired voice interrupted his musing.

"Hi, Lionel," he looked around to find the janitor approaching him slowly with a broom in his hand. "My social worker told me to wait for her here," he shrugged, then coughed. "…Sorry."

"Can't help the human body," the man waved off. "You doing okay today?" he asked carefully a moment later.

"…Not really," he confessed. "It…I buried my parents a little while ago." _It sounds so __plain__ that way,_ he frowned. _'I buried my parents.' 'My parents are dead.' 'Someone killed my parents.' _Each phrase, he noted, was a mere four words. _How can four little words hurt __so much__?_ he wondered, sniffling.

"Yeah, I heard that was where you'd went." Checking to make sure that no one was approaching who might reproach him, he sat down stiffly. "…You ain't supposed to be here," he shook his head slowly.

"…But she told me to wait," Dick replied helplessly.

"Naw, I meant _here_ here. In this place. The Center. You've done nothing to deserve it."

"…She doesn't like me."

"Shit, boy, that woman don't like _herself. _It's hard to do nice to others when you can't even do nice to yourself." As he spoke he straightened his fingers with a pained look and began to gently massage the bunched knuckles. "Arthritis gets real bad when it rains. Ain't so bad on days I don't work, but with the extra cleaning we've had today my hands are all knotted up."

_Extra cleaning…Caleb._ "Did…did Caleb make a really _big_ mess, then?" he asked. "She said I can't go back to my room."

"…No, I reckon you can't," Lionel pursed his lips. "Poor, lost boys," Dick thought he heard him murmur.

"Is he in a lot of trouble for what he did?" he pushed further, hoping to determine if he was getting a new roommate as well as a new room.

The janitor stopped his rubbing and turned to look at the child beside him better. "I suppose that depends on what you believe, son," he said with a frown. "Some'll say he's in trouble for eternity; others, like me, we figure he'd already done enough atoning to make up for it."

He was confused, but an uncomfortable coil of comprehension was beginning to wind up in his guts. "Lionel," he breathed, "what are you talking about?"

"Ain't nobody told you yet?"

"T-told me _what_?!"

"…Caleb done killed himself this morning. Hung himself from the sprinkler pipes with the sheets while he was supposed to be on bed rest."

The chill that had been dancing along Dick's skin ever since he'd gotten into the car suddenly dove all the way to his bones, freezing him solid. _Caleb. Why? We…we could have talked. I know I'm just a kid, but I'd have listened. So would Miss Linda. We could have helped each other, maybe. But…__why__?_

Lionel went on, oblivious to the boy's shock. "He left a note. Real short one, pretty much just saying he was sorry, and he couldn't take no more, and that he'd been thinking about doing it for a while but there wasn't enough for a good rope with just his sheets. When he came back from being up to the hospital and saw they'd made up the other bed, I guess he decided it was his time to go."

_My__ sheets,_ Dick moaned. _He needed __my__ sheets before he could do it. If I weren't here…if I hadn't come here…he'd be alive right now._ A corner of his mind knew that none of it was his fault, but the rest was too busy being appalled to care. _Caleb. I'm so sorry. I don't know what this place did to you, but…I'm so sorry._ _You didn't deserve that_.

"…There's one other thing," the janitor continued.

"W-what's that?" he asked hoarsely.

"Another boy got released today. His sentence was up." He paused. "Kevin's roommate."

_…No. Oh, please, no. Not Kevin. _

"…Heard tell they're putting you in with him, on account of there ain't no other beds." He shifted with displeasure, a deep frown on his face. "You're in for a hard time. Keep your head down."

Footsteps approached, and Lionel stood quickly. "Ma'am," he nodded as Dick's social worker returned to the lobby.

"…Good, you don't look busy," she huffed, shoving a jumpsuit at him. "Take him to his new cell, and make sure you get his regular clothes back after he changes. Then lock him in. He can spend the rest of the day there, there's nothing else for him to do right now anyway."

"I'm just the janitor, ma'am," he said hesitantly. "…I ain't supposed to be doing nothing like this unless Miss Linda or the Director tells me to. No disrespect, but I better check with one of them."

"Linda is off-site, no doubt trying to explain how and why one of her cases took his own life. These are orders from the Director himself," she informed them. "So, unless you want me to tell him you refused to carry out his wish, take _this_," she shook the clothing, "and _that_," she jabbed her finger towards Dick, "where they belong."

"…Yes, ma'am," he pursed his lips and accepted the garment. "C'mon, now. I'll show you the way," he directed the boy to follow him as the CPS agent departed once again without a word to her charge.

A short while later Dick turned slowly around in the middle of his new room, his too-large jumpsuit hanging off of him as he took everything in. _…It's identical to the one next door,_ he realized, _except they stripped the sheets off. I guess they don't want anyone else doing what..what Caleb did._ Indeed, only scratchy wool blankets covered the beds, looking unusually inviting as he coughed and felt a shiver run down his spine. _I don't know which one he normally sleeps in, so…I guess I'll just hope I pick the right one,_ he swallowed hard as he crawled up onto a mattress. The instant he closed his eyes, he was asleep and in the clutches of one of the strangest dreams he'd ever had.

The big top looked as it had on Saturday night, except that none of the circus people seemed to be present. Peering upwards, he found that a change had been made to the show setup; rather than the trapeze arrangement – _of course they can't put that up,_ his dream-self thought miserably, _it's broken – _a narrow beam spanned the two middle-height platforms. On it stood Caleb, one foot planted on either side of where a thick rope was looped around the very middle of the walkway. _…Caleb? What…what are you doing?_

The older boy turned slowly around, seeming to examine the crowd. The risers were full, Dick noted from the ground, and a hush fell over them as the figure over his head turned his stare onto each section in turn. When he'd looked in all directions, he tilted his head back and raised his hands in a gesture of begging.

"…Won't anyone help me down from here?"

It was a said in a whisper, but the hopelessness in the words gave them a haunting echo that carried to the furthest reaches of the tent. _Yes!_ the boy at the base of the ladder wanted to scream as he suddenly understood what the rope was for. _Don't do it! I'll help you down! Please, don't!_

But his mouth refused to open. He tried to wave his arms, jump, cartwheel, _anything_ to catch the elder's attention and make him realize that he wasn't alone, but it was no use; he had no control over his own body in this dreamscape. All he could do was watch as no answer came, leaving Caleb to let his shoulders slump before he bent down and picked up the noose. "…I guess this is what you all paid to see," he commented. "The grand finale. Well," his eyes seemed to fall to Dick, whose muscles were still locked, for just a second, "maybe not the grand finale…but an end of some kind." Then he dropped the loop over his neck, turned it around the right way, and took a deep, watery breath. "…This is a really killer crowd," he warned the air. "Nothing you do is ever good enough. So get out however you can." And he jumped.

In the empty room, the restlessly sleeping child cried out as the rope pulled tight, halting Caleb's downward momentum. In the big top, he was unable to make any sound as a horribly familiar _snap_ accompanied the breaking of the older boy's neck. He hung there, swinging back and forth slowly as a deep roll of laughter swelled up from the surrounding masses. _Are you all crazy?!_ he gasped, staring around at them. _This isn't an act, or an illusion; he just killed himself because none of you would help him!_ _He just killed himself!_ But the people were amused, it seemed, and as the novelty of the first suicide wore off they began catcalling for an encore. _He can't come back and do it again, you stupid people! He's…he's…Caleb's…_

Caleb wasn't the one they meant to give them a second show.

_…No,_ his eyes widened in abject terror as his feet began to shuffle to the ladder. _No!_ he tried to fight. _I don't want to! Let me __go__! Somebody…anybody…__please__!_

He gained the platform without difficulty, his protesting brain disconnected from the body dragging it along, and made his way out towards the middle, where a second rope had appeared beside the one Caleb still dangled from. Just as his former roommate had done, Dick surveyed the crowd from on high. Now he could make out a few faces, Kevin and his social worker among them, both sneering delightedly. _…Where's Bruce?_ he wondered wildly. _Maybe he can save me. Maybe…maybe if he comes in at the last minute, like he did at the show…maybe he'll say something…maybe he can stop me…no one else will, I know that now…_

As Caleb had, he voiced his one-sentence plea as soon as he'd inspected the entire tent. _Please, Bruce,_ he begged as the silence remained unbroken. _Save me. Where are you?_

Despite the fervency of his pleas, after a few seconds his hands reached down for the noose. _Please,_ he breathed desperately one last time, the word only leaving his lips in the real world. And then, as if he'd been pushed, he was falling.

It was only a short trip through the air before he slammed into the wall and snapped awake with a cry of pain. Hands were on him immediately, dragging him upright and shaking him. "Stop!" he cried out, half-awake and knowing only that he was cold and bearing pain inside and out. A fist connected with his left cheekbone, drawing a full scream from his lips.

"Don't you tell _me_ to stop!" an enraged teenaged voice came, slamming him back into the concrete once more before releasing him. "Not when you were sleeping in _my_ bed!"

"I d-didn't kn-kn-know," he sobbed, making no attempt to hold himself up. "I'm s-s-_sorry_…" Asleep when the attack commenced, he'd been completely unprepared for it, and his panic was exacerbated by the fact that he had never been purposefully struck before now. _I wanna go home,_ he whined to himself, holding his throbbing eye as tears poured down his face. _ Mama…daddy…Bruce…someone, get me out of here. I don't want to end up like Caleb, and I don't want Kevin to kill me, either…please…_

"You're going to be even sorrier if you wake me up again with your stupid baby shit," Kevin informed him. "So maybe you better just stay the fuck awake tonight so I don't have to get out of bed and shut you up."

Dick's brain fumbled with that idea. _…But I stayed up last night because I didn't want to wake you. How can I stay up two nights in a row, even if I __did__ just take a really long nap? I'm still so tired…but I don't want to get beat up…_

What little warm air had stayed trapped around him during the one-sided fight suddenly disappeared as Kevin ripped his blanket away. "…I think I'll take your blanket for my inconvenience in having to chuck you out of _my_ bed," the abusive boy judged. "Now quit your blubbering and figure out how to keep your mouth shut, or you _know _what will happen." With that, he tore the cover off of the other mattress, carried both blankets to his bunk, and laid down with a self-pleased smile. A few minutes later, his snoring filled the room.

Dick stayed on the icy floor for a long time before he could work up the courage to move to the bed. It squeaked slightly when he rolled onto it, and he froze, waiting for new blows to come. Kevin's breathing was uninterrupted, however. Shaking with fever and fear, he curled up and cried silently, trying to muffle his coughs when he couldn't hold them back any longer. _Can't sleep. Can't. I don't want him to hit me anymore…_ He touched his already swollen eye gingerly. _It hurts…I didn't mean to…please…_

With that litany running through his head on repeat, he passed the longest night he'd yet experienced in his young life.

**Author's Note: Tomorrow...Bruce SMASH! Or at least flips out in a chillingly cold manner. Happy reading!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note: I know I promised Bruce smashing things, but the muse went down the reunion path instead today. Bruce will smash things tomorrow. In the meantime, though...cuddles!**

Bruce was wearing what Lucius had once called his 'banking face' as he and Alfred approached the squat, ugly CPS administration building. It was an expression that had yet to fail in even the toughest of financial negotiations, and there was no reason to think that it wouldn't prove equally effective in a debate over child custody.

Inside, they passed through a metal detector before approaching the information desk. "I'm looking for Margine Randall," the billionaire said brusquely.

"Ms. Randall? Oh, her office is up on the top floor. Take the elevator at the end of the hall, then a left, then two rights, and you'll get there. But she's not in this early, you know," the receptionist warned them.

"That's fine."

"Thank you," Alfred filled in for his charge after the younger man turned away without another word. As they approached the elevators, he offered a low rebuke. "…Sir, I understand you are upset at not having been able to locate the boy last night, and I'm sure that there is some strategy behind the rather unpleasant look you're wearing, but as an old hand with CPS I urge you to take my advice and at least _try_ to be polite and accommodating with these people."

Bruce shook his head. "…I'm sorry, Alfred, but that's going to be very difficult for me to do. After what I saw yesterday, and then that note last night…are _you_ going to be able to be nice, even?"

"If it is necessary for our mission, Master Wayne, then yes." He nodded a good morning to a stout young woman who came to a stop beside them, also waiting for a lift to a higher floor, before continuing. "Your concern for his wellbeing is completely understandable, but outrage is not likely to get even _you_ very far with this organization. It may have been nearly a decade since I last dealt with them, but at that time they had a very tight-knit order with a true knack for protecting its members from outside interference. I don't imagine that has changed much. If that is the case, antagonizing them will only make your real goal today – getting the boy out of their care and into your own – that much more difficult." The elevator opened, and all three waiting figures stepped inside. "…Which floor, miss?"

"Four, please," she answered. When it was the only button pushed, she pursed her lips slightly, seeming to consider something. "I'm sorry," she said as they lurched slowly skyward, "but I couldn't help overhearing, and I just have to ask – who are you here to see?"

The men exchanged a brief glance. "Margine Randall," Bruce replied shortly. "Why?" Beside him, the butler grimaced as his still-course manner.

"I thought maybe it was her…you aren't here about Dick, are you?" she queried. "Richard Grayson?"

The billionaire stared at her. "Yes, but how did you know that?"

"Just a feeling. There was something in her case notes about you having been at the circus the other night, Mr. Wayne, and then what you were saying…well, it seemed like a reasonable guess." She held out her hand. "Linda Bergman. I'm the counselor at the facility she's trying to get him assigned to."

"So you've spoken to him, then? Is he okay, after the funeral yesterday?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," she shook her head. "I haven't seen him since Wednesday morning. I meant to bring him in and have a long session with him when he got back yesterday, but one of the other boys…" She paused, turning her suddenly teary eyes away. "I'm sorry. One of the other boys committed suicide yesterday, and I've been dealing with that ever since he was found. It's such a shame, he was a good kid. He made a mistake, but…he was trying so hard to move past it. He only had four months left on his sentence, too…if I had just seen it in time…"

_Sentence?_ Bruce puzzled. _What the hell is she talking about? _"…Miss Bergman," he addressed her, "I'm confused. What do you mean, he had four months left on his 'sentence'?"

"…I should have known she wouldn't tell anyone where she put him," the counselor said darkly. "The facility I work at is called the Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys. _That's_ where she's trying to get Dick permanently assigned to."

"…To a _juvenile detention center?!_" the billionaire practically shouted. _I was on that side of town last night,_ he stewed silently. _If I had known…goddamn it. He was __right there__…who puts an eight-year-old in fucking __juvie__?!_

"Calm _down_, Master Wayne," Alfred hissed as Linda flinched. "We'll be no use to him at all if we're thrown out!"

"But _why_?!"

"That's what I'm here to ask," the woman explained. "He should never have been taken there at all, let alone have been left for going on a week. The thought of a child that young, and innocent of any crime whatsoever that I'm aware of, being assigned there _permanently_…it's sick. I don't know what's wrong with her, but I'm not going to just stand by and idly watch her do this." There was a weak _ding_ as the doors opened.

"Miss Bergman," the butler asked tensely, "can you explain how such a thing is even _possible_? I've dealt with Child Protective Services before, and I've never heard such a preposterous suggestion."

She glanced into the hallway. "We're safer discussing this in Margine's office. She won't be in yet, but at least there we can close the door and talk privately. Follow me."

They passed silently down the corridor and into a large room filled with file-strewn desks. Some were occupied already, sleep-deprived men and women answering phones, filling out mountains of paperwork, and trying to get at least a sip of coffee in before they had to rush out the door on that day's transfers, site visits, and other necessary chores. Several of them gave Bruce a recognizing glance as he strode by, but his eyes were set on the door clearly labeled 'Margine Randall, Social Worker IV'.

Alfred, seeing the same sign, felt his heart sink. _If she's a class four, it's no wonder she's an absolute bint,_ he thought. _She's likely the direct supervisor to all of these people. Good lord, the position must have gone straight to her head. I don't know how she could possibly have gotten so far up the ladder if her usual habit has been to send innocent youngsters to reform school…_

The door was locked. "Of course," Linda sighed. "I should have known."

"Is there someone above her we can talk to?" Bruce asked.

"Technically, sure. But he won't be in. Greg?" she approached the closest occupied desk, "do you know if Mr. Matheson is coming in today?"

Greg looked like he hadn't had a full night of sleep in a decade or two. "He hasn't been in for two weeks," he shook his head. "You know how he is. He leaves orders for Ms. Randall to call him if there's an emergency, then goes golfing, or sailing, or whatever. We'll probably see him again sometime next month, when his quarterly reports are coming due." His eyes suddenly softened. "Hey, how are Jesse and Franklin doing over at the Center? I've been meaning to come by and check in with them, I just…" He waved his hand over the veritable wall of files in front of him. "Been a little busy."

"Jesse's doing okay," she nodded understandingly. "I just talked with him last week. He had a pretty big breakthrough; he said he realized that just because his father was a career criminal didn't mean he had to be one, too."

"…He said that?" Greg's face lit up. "He really said that?"

"He did," she smiled. "I told him you'd be proud. I think that made him happy."

"I've been his case worker for five years now, you know, and I never thought I'd hear those words from him. That's…that just made my day, Linda, really it did."

"Franklin's doing well, too," she went on. "If he keeps it up, he'll get his GED finished right before his sentence ends."

"I'm going to figure out a way to get over there this weekend and see them," the seated man swore. "Maybe I'll bring them lunch, something special to reward their hard work. A couple of other cases might have to wait, but…god, am I glad to hear that."

_…Why couldn't Dick have gotten assigned to __him__?_ Bruce wondered. _He actually seems to give a damn about his cases. At least he doesn't act like someone who would stick any of them in detention that didn't belong there._ At least, he reflected, it was nice to know that there were a few employees of Gotham CPS who still actually cared about the children they saw.

"I have to go, Greg, but do me a favor? Have Margine called me as soon as she gets in. Tell her it's about her case re-assignment request."

"You bet I will, Linda. Thank you. This might turn out to be a good day, after all thanks to you," he beamed.

"I'm just glad I had good news on both counts for you," she patted his shoulder. An idea suddenly struck her. "Greg, can we borrow one of the conference rooms? Are any of them free?"

"This early? They're _all_ free. I'll open one up for you." Grabbing a set of keys from his desk, the man led them down a back hallway and unlocked the first door. "Here you go," he pushed the door open. "All yours. If Margine comes in, do you want me to tell her you're back here?"

"Yes, please," Linda requested. "That would be great."

"…I need you to explain how this happened," Bruce said quietly the instant the door was shut. "Who puts an _eight-year-old_ in juvenile detention?"

"Margine Randall," she answered unhappily as she took a seat. "The thing is, what she did isn't illegal. It's an emergency protocol that was put in place about ten years ago. If all of CPS' usual sites – group homes, transfer stations, overnight foster parents – are completely full, they can ask the youth detention centers for bed space. It's supposed to only be for a night, until the child can be rotated into the regular system, but this is the time of year when social services gets hit hard with new cases. The warmer weather is often the last little push that parents need to abandon kids that they don't want, or to kick them out of the house. That all comes in on top of the cases from winter, when you have kids who are taken away because they're living in substandard housing with no heat, etc., or those who turn themselves in because they're freezing to death on the streets."

"You know an awful lot about this," Bruce commented.

"I was a social worker for five years before I went to school for counseling," Linda informed him. "I went through the system myself as a teen. It wasn't pretty then, and it hasn't gotten any better since. That's why I got out when I did." She sighed. "Most of the people out in that office are doing everything they can to help the kids who come through their hands, but that's extremely difficult to do when you're given virtually no resources and very little support from anyone above you. If you can manage to keep your sanity for twenty years or so, you stand a good chance of getting to Margine's level, but by then you're so jaded that…well…that you're like she is," she shrugged. "A lot of truly awful things happen to children in this city, Mr. Wayne. If you can't find some sort of light to follow in this job, you lose your way in the darkness that surrounds all of the evil things you see, and after that…you're not the person you were when you started, let's leave it at that. That's why I got out when I did.

"…In any case, the law. There have been several attempts, by both myself and others, to have it wiped from the books, but it's never done us any good. She's covered in that respect, at least nominally, but this new request…this is absurd. She wants to assign him to the Center as a permanent 'non-offender' resident for 're-education,' to quote the document that was on my desk this morning. I've never heard of anything like it."

"_That_ can't be legal," the billionaire said forcefully, pacing.

"I wouldn't think so, but…Margine's an encyclopedia when it comes to family court law. She was studying to be a custody lawyer twenty years ago, but from what I've heard she ran out of money and had to stop. I don't think she would forward something like this unless she was pretty confident that there's nothing in the law forbidding it."

_Goddamn it. This is __wrong__. _ His fist came down angrily on a small side table that bore stacks of blank documents. "This is bullshit!" he exclaimed as a few of the papers drifted to the floor.

"I agree," she nodded, wincing at his action. "…Not to be presumptuous, Mr. Wayne, but…you seem really upset by all of this. Are…I mean, I don't suppose you were hoping to maybe…take him?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Well, no. I'm not _hoping_ to take him. I _am_ taking him. Today."

"That would be difficult in the best of situations, let alone with her motion in play," Linda said as she stood up. "But if you're serious, I'll do whatever I can to help, starting with advising that you control your temper when you're discussing this with anyone else, _especially_ with Margine," she stressed. "If she had seen you hit the table just now, she'd mark you as potentially unstable, and you'd have no chance. She, or her supervisor, has to approve anything that happens with her cases; as much as I hate to say it, you need her on your side."

"…So if I want Dick, I have to be _nice_ to that…" he glanced sideways at Alfred, who was giving him a stern look, "…_woman_?"

"That's about the long and short of it, yes. But," she read her watch, "it's after eight now. If she isn't in her office yet, she must have had kids to move first thing this morning, which means she might not be back for a while. I can't release him to you without her permission, Mr. Wayne, but I _can_ let you see him, if you want to come over to the Center. It would do wonders for his mental health, I'm sure, to know that he's being offered a home already. And we can get started on some paperwork while we wait for Margine."

"Yes." _He's a tough little kid, but…why didn't he tell me where they'd put him? If I'd known yesterday, maybe I could have made my decision faster and gotten him out…_

"Where is the Center, Miss Bergman?" the butler inquired. "In case we're separated during the drive?" _I'm sure Master Wayne knows exactly where it is, but we might as well keep up the illusion of ignorance as best we can. Subterfuge is not likely to be the foremost thing on his mind at the moment._

"It's the big place right where 207th ends at Jefferson. It's got a spiky fence that looks like the sort of thing they used to put around Victorian sanitariums. Park on the street in front, and wait for me at reception. I'll have to go around the back. This is all assuming, of course, that she isn't in her office."

"Yeah," Bruce nearly growled as he reached for the door knob. "Let's see if she's there, first."

The locked room was dark despite the billionaire's fervent hopes otherwise. _I just want to get Dick, tear that bitch to pieces, and go home,_ he snarled in his head as they moved back towards the elevator. _…But for now, I'll settle for getting him. At least I can let him know that someone __does__ want him,_ he thought, recalling the child's question on Saturday night. _I don't think anyone will want you, kiddo. I __know__ I do. And it's about time I finally did something about it. _

Neither he nor Alfred spoke during the twenty minutes it took to drive to the Center, although both men's stomachs were churning as they walked up to the remarkably prison-like building. Once Linda had let them into the back hallways, the Englishman broached a question. "…What level of offenders do you keep here, Miss Bergman?"

"All levels, more or less," came back unhappily. "I've been trying to get them to divide out the violent residents from the calmer ones for years, but they say it would cost too much money to split the facilities. All I can do for now is try and keep the kids who are least likely to try and hurt each other from being stuck with the really brutal ones, but…even then, it isn't always enough," her voice dropped. "It wasn't enough for Caleb, at least. Speaking of," she added as they entered her office, "there's something else you should know. Caleb was Dick's roommate. Now they'd only met for a few minutes," she held up one hand as Bruce stiffened, staring at her, "so hopefully he won't have taken it as hard as he might have had they been rooming since Sunday, but I wanted you to be aware of the situation."

"…Dick wasn't the one that _found_ him, was he?" the billionaire asked in a low voice as they all sat. _Oh, kiddo…as if you hadn't already had enough experience with death this week._

"No," she shook her head. "…No, that was me." Tugging a tissue from the box on her desk, she ran it under her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just…I spent all day yesterday dealing with police and my supervisor's boss and I can't even tell you how many other people, and I'm just so frustrated by the whole thing. Everyone I spoke to talked about him – Caleb, I mean – as if he were just a number, another statistic to be reported. I should be used to it by now, I know, but when you see a good kid like him do something like that to himself, you hope that it will at least be a signal to others that there's a problem. But no one above me seemed to give a damn, and that…that hit me harder than I realized, I guess," she shook her head and grabbed another sheet. "I haven't had a chance to even speak with Dick about it. I was gone all day yesterday, and then this morning Margine's request landed on my desk before the wake-up bell went off." Blowing her nose, she dropped the soiled tissue into the garbage and straightened in her chair. "But we'll find out how he's handling it in just a minute. Lionel's bringing him down here."

"Good," Bruce nodded. _I need to get him out of here. This is no place for a child like him._

"…You said there were some forms we could fill out in the meantime, Miss Bergman?" Alfred reminded. _Something to keep our minds off of this injustice, at least,_ he mused, his gaze flashing over to his charge's unsettled expression.

"Oh, yes…here," she rifled through her desk and removed a thin packet, handing it to the billionaire. "That's the basic application for custody. There are plenty of other papers you'll have to fill out later, but that's how you start. Do you live in the household, as well?" she directed to the butler.

"Yes, Miss, I do."

"Then you'll need to fill these out while Mr. Wayne works on the first set there," she handed him a different stack. "I wish changes in custody were something I dealt with more frequently," she commented as both men fell to their respective paperwork. "So many of these boys would be benefited by a loving, stable home. But who wants to take a child with criminal tendencies in?"

"Very few, I imagine," Alfred tried to keep up the conversation as he peered at the first form. "…My not being a citizen of this country isn't going to foul this up, is it?" he asked concernedly. _From the sound of things, he needs to be removed from this place immediately. My status can't be allowed to hold that up if he's in danger. _

"You aren't the person actually applying for custody, so no, not so long as you're a citizen in good standing of a friendly nation," the counselor answered. "At least that's how it used to be."

"And if it _is_ a problem, we'll get a lawyer," Bruce added. "…We're probably going to need one, anyway. Any recommendations?" he directed at Linda.

"I have a friend who's a records keeper for the family courts. I'll get you a name from her, she'll have a better clue than I do." A knock came at the door. "That must be him. Come in, Lionel," she called out.

Both men turned in their chairs to find the janitor entering, unaccompanied by anything other than his broom. "Miss Linda, he weren't at breakfast this morning, so I went to check his room. Found him in there," he said quietly. "You best come with me."

"Oh, god," she buried her face in her hands. "Not another one."

"What's wrong with him?" the billionaire demanded, eyes wide. "He didn't…I mean…" _Would it even __occur__ to a child that young to hurt himself? He's smart, but…jesus, Dick._

"It ain't like with Caleb. He's just sitting on the bed. But I can't get him to look up, or talk, or nothing else. Tried telling him you wanted to see him – didn't know about these folks here, so he don't know neither – but he wouldn't move. Just seemed like your sort of thing, especially seeing as how you asked me to bring him down to you."

"Take me to him," Bruce was on his feet, Alfred rising beside him. "Now. Please," he added vaguely.

"…Miss Linda?" the janitor shot her a questioning look.

"I'm coming too," she grimaced, stepping around her desk. "Lead the way." They trouped gravely down into the residential corridors, the counselor gasping when they stopped in front of a door. "…Lionel, this is Kevin's room," she accused.

"…Yes, Miss Linda," he gave her a meaningful look. "…This is where Miss Randall said the Director wanted him, on account of there ain't no other beds."

"We could have moved someone else in with Kevin!" she stormed. "_Anyone_ else! Oh, god, Lionel, open the door." _There's no telling what Kevin did to him. He was so antagonistic towards him on Wednesday, when I found them in the classroom…oh, I'm so sorry, Dick, I didn't know… _The instant the lock pulled back, she was in the room, Bruce directly on her heels.

The child, with his knees pulled to his chest and his arms crossed over his bowed head, didn't so much as twitch when Linda touched his foot gently. "Dick, honey?" she pressed. "Talk to me, sweetheart. Did Kevin do something? Tell me what's wrong."

A tiny, choked whine was the only answer she received, so she tried a slightly different tack. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it right now, but you should at least look up for a minute and say hello to these two people who have come to see you."

In the loose cocoon of his own limbs, Dick had a moment of happiness. _…Bruce?!_ he thought hopefully. An instant later it was quashed as he realized she'd said that there was a pair of people here. _Bruce has always come alone, and he never mentioned anyone else,_ the realization stung him. _It's probably just more people here to ask me about living in the circus, like that man Miss Linda brought over a couple days ago. I don't want to talk to anyone like that. I don't want to talk to anyone at all. At least, not anyone but Bruce. I'd talk to him. But it can't be him. He didn't come for me. I'm alone._ He shook his head.

It was taking every ounce of effort the billionaire possessed to not just shove Linda out of the way and sweep the bundle of boy on the bed into his arms. When he saw him refuse to look up, however, he couldn't restrain his tongue. "…Dick?" he ventured gently.

…_It __is__ him,_ his eyes popped open as he instantly recognized the voice his ears had been straining for all night. Raising his head, he verified that it was, in fact, the only person living that he wanted to see at that moment who had spoken. Before the four adults could do more than feel their breath begin to catch at the deathly pallor of his face, broken only by the dark circle under his undamaged eye and the florid, puffy bruising surrounding the other, he had unfolded himself and leapt. He cleared the five foot wide gap easily, landing in Bruce's surprised but ready arms. "…Save me," he whispered desperately against his ear.

"…Consider it done, kiddo," he breathed back, squeezing him tightly as thin arms locked around his neck. _God, he's burning up,_ he fretted, feeling heat pouring through the thin jumpsuit. _He got sick from the rain. And his __face__…whoever this Kevin kid is, he's got problems. It's probably a damn good thing that I have no idea what he looks like, or he'd be in a world of hurt the first time he ran across Batman. There's nothing Dick could possibly have done to earn a black eye like that. Poor baby…_

As they embraced, Alfred all but heard something shift inside the man standing in front of him. _Yes,_ he thought gratefully. _Yes. Thank you, child. I don't even know who you are, beyond your name, but…thank you. Whatever you've done to him, I can never thank you enough._ Then he raised a hand to cover the fact that his lips were trembling with his efforts to hold back tears of joy.

Linda had no such compunctions about showing her emotions, and let her cheeks grow damp as she realized that she had just watched a family be born. Glancing at Lionel, who had remained just outside in the hall, she found him nodding sagaciously, clearly pleased. _This is like a high, _she reflected. _If every social worker in Gotham could experience a moment like this during their first year of work,_ _none of them would ever quit. They'd spend the rest of their lives chasing this feeling, trying to place kids in good homes just to get another hit. _She sniffled slightly. _…Why can't it always be like this?_

Her phone buzzed suddenly, breaking the spell. _…Here we go,_ she grimaced, a butterfly-nervousness rising in his stomach as she looked from the text she'd received to the man still cradling an innocent boy. _Please, please don't blow this, Mr. Wayne. Please. If you do something stupid like hit her – as much as I want to myself right now – you'll never get custody. And judging from the way he jumped at you like you were the last lifeboat seat on the Titanic, I don't think he could stand that. _She cleared her throat. "Mr. Wayne? She's…she's here."


	13. Chapter 13

"Don't leave me," Dick begged immediately upon hearing those words, his plea ending with a little cough.

Bruce didn't particularly want to put him down, either, but the boy didn't look like he should be anywhere other than in bed, let alone in an office with a woman who clearly disliked him. _The thought of someone else leaving him is the most terrifying thing in the world to him right now, I know,_ he grimaced, _but I have to, at least for a little while_. "I'm not really leaving, kiddo," he soothed as he sat on the edge of the bed, still holding him. "…Can we have a minute?" he asked Linda.

"Of course. I'll keep her busy in my office. Lionel can show you back there when you're ready. Lionel," she turned to the janitor, "I know this isn't standard procedure – in fact, I'm about to break about a half dozen rules – but after I leave I want you to get these gentlemen whatever they need, within reason. I trust neither of you will try to just sneak him out or something like that?" she asked.

"No, Miss," Alfred answered her when Bruce said nothing. "I assure you, we'll follow the proper procedure," he added, looking straight at the billionaire. "We wouldn't want to make the process take any longer than it already may."

"Good. I'll see you shortly, then, Mr. Wayne," she smiled softly at the pair on the bed before vanishing into the hallway.

"…I'll be right outside, case you all need me," the janitor inclined his head to them. "I ain't going to lock you in or nothing. I'll just give you some privacy."

"Thank you," Alfred said graciously.

"…Dick," Bruce said gently when they were alone. "Listen to me, okay? I have to go do some paperwork and have a…uh…_discussion_ with your social worker. But I'm thinking that _you_ should be lying down and trying to feel better while I do that." The slight whimper of reply was accompanied by an increase in the pressure around his neck.

"Please, no..." _Don't leave me. Don't. Please._

He closed his eyes. "What if I leave you a hostage?"

"…Huh?"

"A hostage. Someone I have to come back for, other than you," he explained.

"…Who?" _Oh yeah, there was another person, wasn't there?_

"Do you want to meet him?" A slight movement against his shoulder suggested a nod. "Okay. You're going to have to turn around and do it right, though. He's a stickler for propriety."

"But you'll stay here?"

"While you meet him? You bet."

Sniffling, the child slowly peeled his face away, then reluctantly unlocked his arms. "…Promise?" he asked, tear-bright eyes boring into those of the man holding him.

"I promise," he nodded back. Once the figure on his lap had turned, he made the introductions. "Dick, this is Alfred. Alfred, Dick."

"…Hi," the boy whispered weakly as he took in the butler.

The Englishman came forward slowly and knelt so that he was looking up at his new charge rather than towering over him. "Hello, young sir," he greeted solemnly. "I'm very pleased to finally meet you. You're all Master Wayne has spoken of recently, it seems."

"…It's nice to meet you, too," he answered. _…Is that true? Am…am I really all Bruce has talked about since Saturday? _

"Alfred takes care of things at the house," the billionaire explained behind him. "Including the people who live in it. He's very, _very_ good at that. And since that's going to mean me _and_ you from now on, how about you let him work on making you feel better while I go deal with that nasty bi-…lady from CPS? Would that be okay?" _I'm not going to be able to pry your arms from around my neck and leave you here crying if you refuse,_ he knew. _No way._

"You mean…you mean I get to go with you? To…to your house?" he twisted to stare back upwards.

The hopeful-yet-disbelieving tone of that question caused the men to exchange a pained glance. "Absolutely," Bruce told him.

"Today?"

_Tread carefully, Master Wayne,_ Alfred's lips tightened. _We've no absolute guarantee of that, and the last thing you want to do is make your first promise to him an unfulfillable one._

"Of course. I'm not leaving you, remember? And there's no way they'll let me spend the night here, so…I guess you're going to have to come with me today, aren't you?"

"…You _really_ want me to, though?" cane doubtfully. _…Why?_

"…I really do, Dick," Bruce nodded, brushing a hand through the boy's hair. "I really, really do." A genuine smile broke across the pointed little face at those words, and the billionaire melted. _Ooh, that's dangerous as hell,_ he recognized. _What am I getting myself into with you? No,_ he chastised himself. _You are __not__ thinking like that. Not right now. Not when he's giving you that look... _He accepted another embrace, letting it shove the doubts back into their box, before speaking again. "…So is it okay if Alfred stays here with you for a little while, and then when I come back we can all go home together?"

This time there was no mistaking the nod he received.

Two minutes later he'd gotten him situated and was stepping into the hallway. "Where am I going, Lionel?" he asked the man waiting for him there. He knew the way back, of course – it had only been two turns – but admitting as much was neither necessary nor smart.

"Judging from the good deed you're doing freeing that boy from this place, I reckon straight to heaven," the janitor opined frankly.

"…Thank you," Bruce said, slightly startled, "but I meant to get back to the office."

"Oh, yes sir. I'll take you right there."

"Wait," he stopped him. "Can you just tell me the way? I'd really rather you stayed here, and got Alfred whatever he needs."

"I can do that, too," he agreed, and gave out the directions that Bruce already knew.

As he approached the office, the billionaire put on a carefully neutral expression. _…I have to stay calm, no matter what she says, _he counseled himself. _I can't blow the promise I just made to Dick. I __can't__. He's counting on leaving here today. _"…Ms. Randall," he greeted, finding her just inside the door.

"Mr. Wayne," she replied, sugary sweet. "How lovely to see you again."

His guard went up immediately. _…This isn't right. Why are you being so damned nice all of a sudden? _"I'm pleased to see you, too," he nodded. "We have some business to transact." _Too direct? That was probably too direct. Okay, Bruce, this isn't a boardroom. Slow down. What would Alfred say in this situation?_

"Do we? I don't believe we do," she smiled.

…_No, you know what I'm here for,_ he calculated. _You're not an idiot. There's absolutely no other reason for me to be in this office with you other than Dick. So quit playing dumb. _"Richard Grayson," he tried to say pleasantly. "I would like to adopt him."

An expression of amused confusion came onto her face. "…What on earth for?"

Later, Bruce would be slightly ashamed to admit that she caught him off guard with that question. "…I'm sorry? I…don't understand." _He's a child. I'm an adult. I want to keep him safe._

"Well, I'm just a bit concerned, that's all."

Recovering from his off-balance moment, he almost snorted. _Which is why you stuck him in juvenile detention,_ he bit back. _Because you were 'concerned' about him._ "About what, Ms. Randall?"

"You have a reputation as more than just a stellar businessman, Mr. Wayne," she chided. "Surely you don't expect social services to smile on a single man, known for his…shall we say very _active_ social life, taking in a young boy whom he's met only briefly?"

"I expect social services to be glad that one of its cases is being given a good home," he replied tersely. "After all, isn't that why he's here, rather than someplace more suitable? Because you have too many children to deal with?"

Recognizing that he was no ninny, she dropped the façade. "Mr. Wayne," she uttered in annoyance, "I have no intention of letting that boy leave this facility."

He blinked silently at her for several long seconds, concentrating on forcing his muscles to unbunch themselves. _You'll never see him again if you explode,_ he thought over and over. "Would you mind telling me _why_?" he asked finally.

"Simple. He requires rehabilitation, and he's already here. It's a little idea the Director of the Center and I came up with," she smirked. "We consider it a sneak preview of what children like him are in for if they continue their nasty ways. With any luck, experiencing life in detention will deter him, and those that come after him, from that path before they actually venture down it. It's best to start young, you know. He's our first test case. From what Linda was just telling me, he's already much calmer than he was before."

_Yeah, if you consider cowering in fear on the bed an improvement,_ he boggled. _It's not a bad idea on paper, I suppose, but you're going about it all wrong and to a much too extreme level, especially since he doesn't need 'rehabilitation'. _If Bruce hadn't known better from her note and the way he had seen her treating the boy, he might have been inclined to think she'd simply made a mistake in using Dick. As it was, however, he'd seen all the evidence he needed to in order to know that he was only their 'test case' because she bore a deep-seated prejudice against him and his background. He took a deep breath. _Calm down. Don't punch her. Just…don't. _"You clearly have some information that I do not," he enunciated slowly. "I'm unaware of his having any 'nasty ways'. Could you give me an example, please?" _Thank you, Alfred, for years of lessons in how to be icily civil towards people you really want to deck._

She sighed. "Your jacket, for one. I assume you received my package?"

"…Yes," he nodded. _The letter. Leverage. Use it._ "And your letter. In fact, I kept that."

"…Oh?" Her tone became mildly cautious.

"Yes." _That's it. Make her scared without giving her anything she can defend in a court._ Settling into his role, he relaxed more easily, tucking his hands into his pockets to give the appearance of being completely at ease.

"Why do you want the boy?" she asked again. "Honestly, now. You know he's a lying, thieving little brat, so what is it?"

"He is _no_ such thing, Margine!" Linda interjected. "And I will swear to that if need be!"

"I know where you stand on this, Linda, and so does the Director!"

"What's he going to do, fire me for doing my job?" the counselor threw back.

"That can be arranged," the CPS agent said silkily.

Bruce's mind whirled. _She's awfully certain-sounding about that. There's more going on here than meets the eye, I think. _

"…You don't have that kind of sway here," Linda said, taken aback by the confidence in the other woman's voice.

"Hmph. Do you really want to risk that? What would the poor, misguided children do without you?" she goaded. "They'd tear each other to pieces. Caleb would be but the first of many."

The counselor fell back in her chair, eyes wet. _She's right. She's completely right. Even if they could find someone to take my position, they wouldn't know what they were walking into. I didn't, and it was terrible at first. I only stayed because I knew the boys needed someone to listen to them…I can't leave them now. How many more would Kevin and his cronies drive to suicide? How long would it be before the first outright murder? No. No, I can't help __any__ of them from outside…_

Linda was out of the fight, but she'd bought enough time for Bruce to gather his thoughts. _Lionel said that the Director told you to put Dick in Kevin's room,_ he pondered. _And you basically just admitted that you and the Director have spent a fair bit of time comparing rehabilitation philosophies; enough time, at least, for the two of you to have come up with this plan. The question is, does something other than your program give you power over him? Are you something more than just friendly colleagues? I wonder if there are security cameras in the offices, and if the Director would be stupid enough to allow anything to go on in front of them…_

"The jacket incident is a non-event," he waved away, returning the conversation to its original track. "I lent it to him because he was cold. I knew he got into the car with it, and I knew when he did so that there was a chance I might never get it back, _not_," he stressed, "because he might steal it, which never crossed my mind, but because it can be difficult to hold onto things when you're being moved from place to place. Given that, I still see no reason to think he's anything other than the victim of a violent crime."

"I suppose that's going to be your explanation for why you want to take him?" Margine asked skeptically. "Violent crime? A shared life-experience? _His_ parents were murdered, too, so you feel _bad_ for him?"

In his pockets, Bruce's fingers pressed into his thighs so hard that he would find bruises that evening. But he made no fists, and thus gave her no footholds. _You want to play verbal chess?_ he smirked internally. _Fine. I learned from the best._ "You have to admit, it's a powerful reason for two people to bond quickly," he countered in a low voice. "I think any psychologist would agree with that. Any _person_, really. Judges included." _Your move._

"Certainly. And I think I could find plenty of psychologists who would think there might be something shady behind a single man - a _player_, if I may use the lingo so many of our dear little convicts in the Center seem to like - who was raised by another single man, taking in a young boy. You've never shown a shred of interest in adopting a child before today, Mr. Wayne – I checked, believe me, after you showed up to the funeral - but all of a sudden this pretty little thing comes along, and you're hit by a _strange_ urge to be charitable with something other than your money. How would you explain _that_ to a judge?"

"I wouldn't have to," he shrugged unconcernedly even as he boiled underneath the cool veneer he'd pasted on. _How dare you. _ _How __dare__ you even suggest that I want him for some perverse sexual reason. He's __eight__. My god, woman. _"I've got a little black book full of names that could be subpoenaed to testify that I'm only interested in women. And if that _wasn't_ the case, don't you think the society page bloodhounds would have sniffed it out by now?" _To be fair, a lot of people would agree with her regardless of the evidence, if the suggestion was made to them,_ he confessed silently. _But with any luck, she won't think of that._

He got lucky. "…It would still cast enough doubt on your character for a judge to rule you a potentially unfit guardian."

"In which case, Dick would be assigned to another case worker, and I would try again, and again, and again," he replied. _…I'm done with this woman. He's sick, and I want to get him home and in bed so Alfred can work his magic._ Bruce still wasn't sure howgetting Dick out of the Center legally was going to work, but making her realize that he wasn't going to be dissuaded on this issue seemed like a good method to try. _Either way, I'm going to have to gamble. If I take the risk and win, I get Dick. If I don't take it, or if I lose, the best case scenario is that it takes weeks or months for me to __maybe__ win. And if they leave him in someplace like this for that long, will he still remember how to smile?_ _Can he even hold out that long? I hate to do it this way, but…just getting her to realize that she'd be better off trying this little trick of hers with another child might be sufficient for now. I can deal with the general injustice of the situation later._

"In the course of everything you're talking about, the question of why Dick was left here for so long to start with would have to come up," he reminded her. "My understanding is that placing children here is generally only a one-night, last resort thing. So…how full have the other site _really_ been this week? And do you want all that time that you and the Director must have spent together formulating your rehabilitation plan coming under the same harsh scrutiny as my personal life would in your scenario? Because I assure you, madam," his voice dropped, "I would see to it that it did."

"They'd find nothing," she crowed.

Her voice was assured, but her body language gave away her fear. _I'll be damned,_ the billionaire thought, watching her knuckles whiten as she gripped her clipboard. _They __are__ sleeping together, or something. They wouldn't throw her in jail over it, obviously, but that kind of fraternization plus their plan and her obvious disregard for Dick's well-being would probably be enough to get her fired, especially if she failed to move him when there was space elsewhere just to serve her little scheme._ Looking up, he knew she'd seen his eyes go to her hand. _And she knows it. Checkmate, bitch. _

"…Give it up," he encouraged her. "Let me have Dick, and then leave him be. You want to run your little thing with the Director, whatever it is? Fine. I won't interfere. You know she won't," he jerked his head towards Linda, still sitting helplessly in her chair, "and even if she tried to, unless she could prove it - which you say she can't - a single accusation from a disgruntled employee won't be taken nearly as seriously as a billionaire philanthropist's legal team would be." He paused. "This is a battle you _could_ win, if you got lucky. But I promise you it would be a Pyrrhic victory. There's a much easier road than that open to you, Margine; I suggest that you take it."

She watched him for a long, silent moment, the faintest glimmer of respect shining at the bottom of her gaze. "I can see why you're a billionaire, Mr. Wayne," she gave in finally. "You want that little Gypsy rat? You can have him. But when things start disappearing around the house, don't you dare try and send him back to me. If you take him, he becomes _your_ problem child. Remember that."

"And you'll leave it be?"

"If you will," she conceded. "What's one child, especially one like him, in the grander scheme?"

He didn't believe her for a second, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. _For now, I just need to get him out of here._ "I want to take him home today," he stated, his tone making it clear that it was non-negotiable.

"It shows up on my record as a placement whether I sign him over to you or to the Director," she shrugged, acting defiant in the face of defeat. "Give me a temporary guardianship form," she barked at Linda, who complied with a grimace. "…I'll run the standard background checks when I get back to my office, but unless those turn up something this is good for thirty days. Normally those would be processed before you were allowed to take him, but I'm busy and, like you said, if there was anything to be truly concerned about that the background check was likely to uncover it would already have been in the news. If you haven't filed for custody or an extension by the end of the temporary period, he reverts to the state. And you _don't_ want that, Mr. Wayne, because I will put him right back into the program." She signed three lines, initialed a fourth, and slammed down her pen. "There. Sign that, and he's yours to try for a month."

…_Jesus, he's not an appliance,_ Bruce thought distastefully. "Thank you," he spat.

"Linda, make sure you fax that my office as soon as it's signed, and I won't say anything to the Director about your little…rebellion," she said with false grace. And then she was gone, the _clack-stomp_ of her angry low heels fading as she made her way to the lobby.

"…I'm sorry you were caught in the middle of that," the billionaire expressed to Linda when they could no longer hear the CPS agent's retreat.

"It's all right," she answered distantly. "You did what you had to do to get Dick out of here, and I'm glad for that. At least now I know what I'm dealing with." Her nose gave a honk as she blew into a tissue. "Although I don't know how I'll work against it, since the Director's part of it."

"…Is there any chance that this program they've worked up is illegal?" he asked.

"It would probably be _made_ illegal, if the right people found out about it. But like she said, there's no evidence, and even if there was, they've both been in the system so long that they'd just get a slap on the wrist. And who's going to report it? You can't, or you risk her screwing up your custody proceedings, or getting someone else to do it for her; I can't, or I risk my job and the safety of the boys they bring into their sick little 'experiment,'" she scowled. "If we say nothing, you can protect Dick, and I'm still in place to try and minimize the damage done here. Besides," she sighed hopelessly, trying to find a silver lining, "maybe some of them really will be benefitted by the experience, provided that she sends kids who really do have the beginnings of criminal tendencies." She pushed the paper across the desk towards him. "…You need to sign this."

"…Yeah," he nodded, bending over to do so. When the document was complete, she handed him a copy, along with the custody forms he and Alfred had started earlier.

"That will let you take him out of here," she smiled. "Oh, and here," she added, lifting a small cloth suitcase onto her desk. "He brought this with him when he came here, but the facility rules forbid residents from having personal effects, so I held onto it for him. Listen…get a good picture of his face and email it to me? Technically I need it for his file, but more importantly…well, I might as well keep a portfolio of the injuries these boys she's going to bring in receive as a result of her program. It might be enough, over time, for something to be done about it."

_With any luck, it won't take that long for me to bring her down,_ he thought, taking the bag. _She clearly has no problem being cruel to children; there's bound to be something in her past that will be sufficient to take her job without implicating either of us. I just have to find it._ "…I'll send you that email," he nodded. "And thank you."

"Say goodbye to him for me, would you?" she requested.

"I will," he said, heading for the door. Retracing his steps towards the cells, he let out a long, relieved breath. _Okay. Step one, complete. Now for steps two through eighty-seven,_ he grimaced. _But this was the most important part. He's out of this place, and away from her; I can take him home and get him well, and we'll go from there._ At that moment, it was enough of a victory to make the corners of his lips turn up.


	14. Chapter 14

"…Well, then, Master Dick," Alfred broached a few moments after Bruce had left them. "It seems as if you're feeling a bit under the weather. Am I correct?"

The boy tore his eyes away from the door the billionaire had just vanished through. "…Huh? Oh," he bowed his head, sniffling. "Um…a little bit, maybe." _I don't want to make extra work for you,_ he thought. _I don't really feel __so__ bad. I'm just tired. And achy. And my head hurts. And…well…everything else._

"Hmm. That's not a very good state of affairs, then, is it? What can we do to make you feel better? Any suggestions?" _I daresay you're a fair bit sicker than you're admitting to,_ he chastised gently. _But then I suppose this is all very awkward for you…I certainly can't blame you for being hesitant to share, given your recent experiences. It doesn't sound as if you've received much commiseration for your very real woes._

"I'm…I guess I'm kinda cold," he offered, shuddering as he spoke.

"Ah, an easy fix," the butler nodded gravely, glancing around the room. _Where are the linens?_ he wondered with a frown. Spotting two blankets tangled on top of the other mattress and recalling the panic on the counselor's face when she'd realized who Dick had been put to room with, he surmised what had happened. _So the other boy took your covers last night,_ his brows drew together as he rose, _leaving you, no doubt already ill from the rainstorm you encountered at the funeral, to shiver on a bare mattress. Despicable._ "Here we are," he announced, bringing both blankets back to the occupied bed. "They're rather scratchy, but they should do the trick until we can get you home."

Dick flinched as Alfred attempted to wrap one around his shoulders. "But…" he objected hoarsely, "…those are Kevin's." The inmates, he knew, weren't supposed to return to their rooms between the wake up bell and the curfew alarm, but his encounter with the older boy on Wednesday morning had taught him that the bully had ways of getting around that. _If he comes back and catches me using a blanket after he took them both, what will he do? I don't think it will make a difference that you're here, no matter what Lionel said about staying with adults. Kevin lied right to Miss Linda's face, and she works here and could get him in trouble, so why would he have any respect for someone from outside? _

Hearing the fear in his voice, the Englishman sat down and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I assure you, young sir," he said seriously, "that if anyone objects to your using them, they shall have to answer to me. I've not yet encountered a young person that I couldn't scare the daylights out of if necessary, so I don't think you need worry about this Kevin fellow so long as I'm here."

"Um…doesn't that mean you could 'scare the daylights' out of me, too, though?" he asked cautiously even as the man's calm demeanor soothed him.

_Clever child._ "Yes, I suppose it does," he conceded. "But I rather doubt that you'll give me reason to do so. You seem like a steady boy, not given to the sorts of activities that would incur any great displeasure from my quarter, so you needn't fret about that too much, either."

"So you don't think I'm a…a thief, then?" Dick swallowed hard. "L-like my social worker does?"

"I've seen no evidence of any such thing," Alfred answered firmly. "As for your social worker…well. I imagine she sees what she wants to see, rather than what's truly in front of her. It's an unfortunate condition, and one that both myself and Master Wayne try quite studiously to avoid contracting ourselves. Neither of us believe that you are a thief, or shiftless, or anything else that she or others may have unduly accused you of being."

_For all that he is surprisingly close in appearance to Master Wayne at this age – albeit a fair bit skinnier – he hasn't known me since the day he was born,_ the butler reminded himself as the boy continued to look hesitant. _I can't just assume that he'll immediately welcome my ministrations, no matter what my intentions. This is as much about making him comfortable as it is about making him well; I mustn't give him the sense that I'm forcing anything onto him._ _ "_What we _do_ believe," he continued, catching the boy's eyes, "is that you are someone worth learning much more about. But we can't do that properly until you're out from under this little cold you've picked up. So," he requested, "may I please have your permission to help you feel better?"

Dick considered him for a long moment. _He wants to help me,_ he concluded finally. _If he really does take care of Bruce's house, and of Bruce, then that means Bruce trusts him. And I trust Bruce. So…I should trust this man. Alfred. I…I can trust him._ "…Okay," he said finally. "But if Kevin comes, be careful," he warned. "He's…he's really mean."

_Very good,_ Alfred complimented silently. _I wouldn't have been surprised if your illness and the natural fear you must be feeling due to your current circumstances had caused you to remain aloof, but you seem to have determined that I'm not a threat. That's an impressive recovery, considering everything you've been through of late. _"Thank you for the information, Master Dick," he replied, draping the first blanket over his thin, trembling shoulders and following it up quickly with the second. _You're rather warm,_ he noted. _A fever certainly wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities, with your other symptoms. _"…If I may inquire, is Kevin the one who hit you?" There was no reply for a second. "You don't have to answer right now, if you'd rather not. It's alright."

"No, it's…it's okay," Dick said slowly, pulling his makeshift shawls closed over his crossed legs. "He got mad last night, because I was in his bed when he came back. But I didn't know it was his bed, nobody told me and they both looked the same…" He stared at his latest acquaintance, pleading to be believed. "I wasn't trying to steal his bed or anything, honest."

"Of course not," the butler shook his head. "You had no way of telling." _…That horrid woman's accusations of thievery are going to be a recurring issue for him, it seems,_ he grimaced to himself. _Cold-hearted wench. _"Please, go on."

"Well…so I was asleep, and I was having this…this really bad dream, because of Caleb and my…my parents," he whispered, his voice hitching slightly as he looked away. "And Kevin came in, and he…threw me against the wall," he remembered. "In real life, not the dream. That woke me up, and I didn't know what was going on. I yelled for him to stop, and that just made him madder, so…so he h-hit me." A few tears made a break for his chin. "And th-then he said the same thing he said on Wednesday, and told me not to wake him up with my screaming from nightmares or he'd b-break my jaw so I _couldn't_ scream…so I st-st-stayed up all n-night, just like I did on Wednesday, because I j-just didn't want him to hurt me anymore and there was n-n-_no one_ I could tell to keep him from doing it if I had another bad dream…" Leaning forward, he reassumed the position he'd been in before Bruce had made his presence known and cried quietly. "And I'm so tired, and I don't feel good, and I just d-d-don't want it to _hurt_ anymore…"

Alfred pulled him gently close with one arm, his lips pressed almost to invisibility as he bit back his anger at what the child beside him had been subjected to. _How many others has this Kevin hurt?_ he raged. _I wouldn't be surprised in the least to learn that he was tormenting the young man who killed himself yesterday. For him to then set his sights on an eight-year-old…he sounds like a bit of a sociopath. You poor child, to have been exposed to such a person, and at such a tumultuous time in your life..._ "There, now, young sir," he breathed. "It's in the past, and it won't happen again."

"I d-d-didn't _mean_ to wake him up," he sobbed back. "I d-didn't even know I was screaming. I j-just had b-bad dreams…"

"Hush. Hush. That boy will not lay a finger on you from here on out. And I can promise you," he went on, "that you will _never_ be punished for having nightmares in Master Wayne's house. No matter how much they may make you scream," he finished with a slight grimace. _Although hopefully we'll be able to keep that to a minimum once we've gotten you settled in. Heaven knows those halls have already hosted far too many agonized cries._

"…Is that because Bruce still has them, too?" he asked, calming as the topic turned and a light, comforting pressure remained around his shoulders.

They were the last words Alfred was expecting to hear, and as such they caught him completely off guard. "How in the world did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows rising.

"Just…something he said before. The first night we met, he told me to have a dreamless sleep, and…well, I figured he would only wish me that if he knew all about bad dreams."

"…That's a very astute conclusion to have drawn, Master Dick," he managed. _And at such a moment, too,_ he marveled. _Good lord, he wasn't exaggerating when he said you were smart. Strong, too, it would seem, to have been noting all of that so soon after witnessing what you did._

A wide, wary gaze swiveled up to meet his own. "…I didn't freak you out with that, did I? I do that sometimes, say things that make grown-ups look at me funny," he picked at a string hanging from the hem of his jumpsuit. "I'm sorry."

"You're nothing to apologize for," the butler told him. "I was merely a bit blindsided by your excellent observation, that's all. It's no fault of yours; quite the contrary. In fact-" he was cut off by rough coughing that shook the slight figure still leaning against him. "…Well, I see what our next thing to address ought to be. That sounded rather painful."

"Sorry. I'm okay," Dick whispered, eyelids drooping wearily as he began to feel safe under the guard of Bruce's auxiliary. "I've been doing it all day. It'll go away."

"Yes, it will," Alfred agreed forcefully. "Just as soon as we get you some medicine to ease it, it should get much better."_ I'm sure it's nothing more than a bad cold, but I believe I'll call Dr. Thompkins out this evening in any case,_ he decided. _I hate to bring another new face into the picture before you've had a chance to become used to Master Wayne and myself, but it's not worth risking you becoming sicker. _Seeing that the boy was inching towards sleep, he made a proposal. "Why don't you lie down, and I'll see about getting medicine and a few other things for you?"

His eyes flew open. "You're not leaving, are you?!"

"Of course not. I'll go no further than the doorway to speak with the janitor. Is that alright?"

"…Okay." _So long as I can still see you…_

"Very good," he patted his shoulder, then helped him move into a horizontal position. "Here's a pillow, as well," he tucked it beneath his head before straightening the blankets.

"…Alfred?"

He paused halfway to the door and returned to the bed. "Yes, Master Dick?" he inquired.

"…Thank you."

…_Polite, as well. If this is what he's like ill, I can hardly imagine the pleasure he'll be when he's healthy._ "You're very welcome. Now, you get some rest and feel better. I imagine Master Wayne will be quite worried otherwise, and we don't want that." _He's going to have plenty extra to deal with without our having to spend our first days with you in a hospital._

"Huh-uh…" he trailed off, frowning as he drifted into sleep. _Don't wanna upset Bruce…he's been so nice to me…Alfred, too…_

"Excuse me," the butler leaned out into the hallway after ensuring that his younger charge was slumbering. "Ah, yes, Mr. Lionel," he nodded, spotting the janitor.

"…He doing all right in there?" the broom-carrying man asked, coming close enough to peek in. "Miss Linda and I been real worried about him. He don't belong here, he didn't do nothing to deserve it."

"He'll recover," Alfred assured, hearing the sincerity in his voice and appreciating it. _Thank goodness he had __someone__ trying to look out for him, at least._ "Tell me, does this facility have an infirmary?"

"Oh, yes sir, it does. You need something for him? I'll get it for you."

"I would appreciate it immensely if you could bring me a thermometer and an ice pack. If the staff will allow it, a dose of children's cold medicine could be put to very good use, as well. And…" he glanced back, "possibly a less abrasive blanket, if such a thing exists in this place."

"It doesn't," the janitor shook his head. "They're all like that here. I feel bad for the housekeeping crew – them poor girls leave here every week with their arms all red and scraped up from changing the beds. Even when they wear long sleeves, it still gets to their hands," he shook his head. "But I can get you the other stuff. Take me about fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I understand completely. Thank you very much, Mr. Lionel." Finished placing his order, he returned to the bed and sat, watching the sick child sleep. _A new batch of bruise cream is in order, I think; it's been several weeks since I made any, and that eye needs all the help it can get. You're lucky he wasn't a few inches over, or he'd have broken your nose, judging from the look of things…_ He brushed a few strands of hair away and winced as he found a slight split in his skin where a knuckle had connected. _Brutish little…well. It doesn't matter. It won't happen again._ _I ought to call Dr. Thompkins now, though, _he thought, pulling his cell phone from his pocket,_ so that she has some prior warning of our need for her services…_

"Dr. Thompkins speaking."

"Good morning, Dr. Thompkins."

"Alfred! This is an odd time of day to hear from you. Oop, sorry, Nancy, didn't see you there…give me just one second, Alfred, okay?" He listened as she made her way into her office and shut the door. "Ugh…sorry about that, it's busier than usual today. Now, what's going on?"

"Rather a lot, to be honest," he confessed. "More than I can express fully over the phone. There's no emergency, but would you be able to take a couple of hours out of your schedule this evening to stop by the manor? I have a patient for you with a cold and a rather nasty black eye. We'd be quite pleased if you stayed for dinner afterwards, as well, of course." _Master Wayne can hardly begrudge company if she's coming to look after the boy, _he reasoned.

"I won't be able to get out of here until probably six tonight," she warned. "Which means you'll be having dinner pretty late if you wait for me."

"It's not a problem," he assured her.

"In that case, I'll see you around seven." An intercom buzzed on her end of the line, drawing a sigh. "I have to go. Tell Bruce I give him permission to double his usual antihistamine dose if his nose is too stuffy. I know he hates that. I'm coming!" she called out. "…Talk to you tonight, Alfred. Sorry!"

She was gone before he could decide whether or not to inform her that her patient was someone she'd never met before. _…Well, it will be a pleasant surprise for her, then,_ he judged. _Master Dick certainly seems to be less grouchy when ill than Master Wayne has ever managed to be, so I don't imagine that she'll complain._

"Who the _fuck_ are you, old man?" a new voice said angrily from the doorway.

Dick jerked awake with a little gasp, adrenalin flooding him as he recognized the tone. "…Oh, no."

"Hush, now, young sir," Alfred said softly, well aware of the figure standing several feet behind him and purposefully not responding to him yet. "It's quite alright. Remember? I'll take care of it."

"Hey! I'm talking to you!"

"Careful," the boy whispered back, gazing up at him.

"Of course," the butler nodded before turning and rising to his feet. "Well," he addressed the piggish-eyed teen loafing in the doorway and trying to look dangerous. "You must be Master Dick's roommate. From your language, it sounds as if you are as boorish as you are brutal. However, I will consent to answer your crudely phrased question, if only to keep from being rude myself. My name is Alfred Pennyworth."

"Heh. Whatever. What the hell are you doing in my room, old man?" His gaze slipped to where Dick was struggling to push himself upright and keep the blankets around himself at the same time. "And what do you think you're doing with my stuff, screamer? I told you, those blankets are _mine_."

"You'll have them back shortly," Alfred said tightly. "As well as your room. I am here, along with my employer, to take this child home with us. In the meantime, should you not be elsewhere? What good are the blankets to you right now?"

"Doesn't matter. Point is, they're mine, and that whiny little fucker's trying to steal them."

"I'm _not _a_ thief!_" came a vehement protest from the bed, followed by a round of choked coughs.

"Nobody wants _you_," Kevin went on. "He's not here to take you anywhere, that's a lie. What'd you do, have another bad dream and wake up hollering for mommy and daddy like a baby? Let me guess, you're really his special grief counselor, right? Someone they had to call in because he's too weak to just man up and deal, and that fat bitch Linda is afraid he's gonna off himself like Caleb?"

"Young man," Alfred began, trying mightily to keep his patience. "I advise-"

"You _advise_? You don't advise _shit_ to me, you got that? I run this place. All these little bitches like him," he jerked his chin at Dick, "do what I tell them to. Who do you think you are, coming into _my_ room and telling me what to-"

"_Shut. Up." _The words echoed as the Englishman stepped up to the teen, carefully maintaining just enough distance that no one could reasonably claim that physical contact was made. This close, he was roughly the same height as the near-adult, and he forced his face to go blank as steel rose in his eyes. "Now, then," he said almost pleasantly. "I want you to look at me – really look at me, Kevin, this is important – and I want you to decide whether or not you think it will truly be worth your while to continue slinging your barbaric insults at this child."

Kevin scoffed, then looked. His cocky grin froze on his lips. "…Uh…"

"Well? Are you going to continue?" was asked smoothly.

"N-no…"

"Very good. Now, I advise," he paused, waiting for a rebuttal, "that you make your apologies and return to wherever it is you're supposed to be at this time. Is that understood?"

"Uh…sorry." He didn't move.

"Well? What else?"

As if he'd been poked with a pin, Kevin jumped, then scurried out of the room. Alfred waited a moment to make sure he wouldn't come back, then shook his head and returned to the bed, his expression normal. _Vile boy. He must be sixteen or seventeen, and yet he found it necessary to assert his dominance over a child half his age and a third of his size. _"He was uncouth, to say the least," he opined quietly as he sat back down beside Dick. "I'm sorry you had to listen to that sort of inappropriate language, young sir. I must ask that you don't repeat it."

"What…what did you do to him?" the boy asked, teary eyes wide as he sniffled.

"Oh…just a little trick I learned many, many years ago from a rather talented hypnotist," he brushed off. "A special glare, of sorts."

"You hypnotized him just now?"

"No, not _technically_. I merely gave him a look that was capable of getting through that thick skull of his so that he would realize that he was best served by not being in this room whilst you and I are occupying it." _I really shouldn't have used what is for all intents and purposes the prototype Batglare in this setting, but I simply couldn't stand by and listen to him continue to say such awful things any longer. To be honest, I don't believe anything else would have worked on him; he seems like one of those who, through a combination of nature and years of probable neglect, responds to nothing but a show of greater force than that which he possesses. But that's far more than you need to know._ "You didn't get much rest, I'm afraid. Perhaps you ought to lie back down and try again, hmm?" he changed the subject. "I don't think he'll be coming back to bother us further."

"Sure," Dick nodded, wiping the good side of his face dry before he slumped back to the mattress. "But, Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

"Can…can you teach me how to do that? So if someone else is mean to me like he was, I can…you know…take care of them myself?"

The butler's hands paused in the act of adjusting the blankets once more. _Oh, yes, Master Wayne will love that,_ he nearly grinned. "…Oh, I imagine we can discuss that when and if you ever need it. There are plenty of other ways to resolve conflicts, you know."

"Sure," he yawned, "but your way _works_."

This time he couldn't suppress his chuckle. "Indeed it does, Master Dick. Indeed it does."


	15. Chapter 15

"…Alfred?" Bruce asked as he came into the room a short while later. "How is he?"

"Exactly as you said he was, Master Wayne," the butler replied, moving the washcloth-wrapped ice pack Lionel had brought him along the boy's heated face and neck. "…Rather incredible."

Setting the suitcase Linda had given him down by the door, the billionaire approached the bed. "I'm glad you agree," he stated, "but I meant his fever."

"Just over a hundred. Enough to make him miserable, but not enough to put him in much real danger of injury, provided that we keep him in bed and monitored. He seems fairly healthy, his cold aside. I'm sure he's lost a bit of weight these past few days, as well, but we'll get that back on him soon enough. We should have a better idea of his overall physical state this evening, after Dr. Thompkins visits."

"…She's coming tonight? Don't you think we should give him a day to adjust? He's seen so many new faces recently…" He remembered the crowd that had come to him after his own parents' deaths; psychologists, social workers, lawyers, media. Everyone just _had_ to get their five minutes in with the lone survivor, and despite his best efforts Alfred simply hadn't been able to hold all of them back. _Alfred was the only person I wanted near me,_ he recalled. _All the doctors – except Leslie – said I was displaying anti-social attitudes when I was rude to them, but with all those different people coming in and out when all I wanted was to be left alone, why were they be surprised?_

"I had the same thought, sir, but I'd rather not risk it. He will be meeting her sooner rather than later in any case, and I felt it was worth the slight confusion her introduction might cause if she can make him well even the slightest bit faster." As if on cue, Dick coughed in his sleep. Alfred glanced up to underline his point, but the stricken look on his elder charge's face told him it had been gotten across sufficiently well.

"…Please tell me that you were successful in your mission, Master Wayne," he requested instead. _I fear greatly for his safety if we leave him here another night._ When Lionel had returned with the thermometer and ice pack – the nurse had refused to let cold medicine leave the infirmary – Alfred had made inquiries about the older boy. Kevin had, he verified, been Caleb's lead torturer, and he had a history of disregard for the rights of others, adults and children alike, as well. _Even a truly incensed glare doesn't seem likely to stick with someone like him for very long,_ he thought as he waited with more than a trace of anxiety for Bruce's answer. _Who knows what he'll do to the child if given the chance, especially now that he's been shamed in front of him._

"The temporary guardianship form is in my pocket," the billionaire revealed as he sat on the edge of the mattress, resting his hand on the narrow back that rose and fell slowly in sleep. "…These blankets are awful," he frowned.

"I've been trying to keep the fabric from actually touching his skin, but he keeps pulling his arms underneath," Alfred shook his head. "I left it finally, not wanting to wake him. We'll apply some aloe at home; that should keep abrasions to a minimum, at least."

"Do we have a better blanket in the car?"

"Yes, sir, I packed one in the trunk just in case it was needed. I didn't dare leave him to get it, and it turns out to have been a good thing that I stayed…" He relayed everything that had happened between himself and Kevin, as well as what Dick had told him about the encounters on Wednesday and the night before. By the time he was more or less finished, he found himself hoping for Kevin's sake that Batman remained ignorant of his appearance, as the man was cleared incensed.

"That fucking bastard," he growled. _Threatening to break his jaw for crying out after a nightmare about his parents…let me meet you in a dark alley one of these nights, Kevin. I'll help you understand that sometimes you can't help but scream…_

"Language, Master Wayne," the butler reminded him, shooting a meaningful look at the unconscious child. "I did warn you that your usage of foul words would have to decrease considerably with a young person in the house, did I not?" _And step back out of the shadows until tonight, if you would be so kind. _

"…Yes," he replied grudgingly. _Let him come back in while I'm here,_ he steamed silently. _Alfred's worst looks are bad, but if I see that little asshole I'll give him the __real__ glare. Let's see how scared the other kids are of him after he shits himself with fear._

"Master Dick took the awful things that were said quite well, considering," Alfred went on. "…In fact, he expressed quite a keen interest in the...ah…'special look' that I used."

"…He did?"

"Yes. He asked if I would teach it to him, so that the next time he's bullied he can 'take care of them' himself."

Bruce smirked. "Heh. _Let_ someone else try to bully him." He paused. "I've never hit a kid before, Alfred, but if anyone starts getting nasty with him again I don't know that I'll be able to hold back, regardless of how old they are."

"That would be extremely foolish, Master Wayne, since such an action would result in your immediate loss of custody," the butler arched an eyebrow.

"…Point taken." _And she'll put him right back here. That can't happen. _He exhaled heavily, his rage dropping to a more controllable level as he watched the boy twitch slightly. _You must be exhausted, kiddo. Two nights in a row without sleeping…it sounds like you got a nap yesterday afternoon, but it can't have been a very good one. Not with these sandpapery blankets…_ "Let's get him out of here, Alfred," he directed suddenly, wearing a determined look. "There's no reason for him to wake up inside of these walls ever again."

"I assume you're planning on carrying him, then, sir?"

"Ah…yeah. I…guess I am." _I'm just…not entirely sure how,_ he didn't add. He couldn't just chuck the boy over his shoulder in the manner he would an adult, after all. _I guess I can just lift him, it's not like he weighs much of anything…but…_"I don't want to wake him up," he answered the other man's curious stare as he made no move. "I mean, he's lying on his stomach."

"Master Wayne," the Englishman said gently, "he's a child, not a landmine. You can simply roll him over and pick him up. As little rest as he seems to have gotten of late, I rather doubt he'll wake up. If he does, he's likely to fall right back to sleep once he realizes it's _you_ carrying him."

"Right," he nodded hesitantly, pulling back the coarse covers. _Okay…let's do this, I guess. If you wake up, there isn't much I can do about it. But don't wake up. Not here. Please._

"…That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Alfred asked a moment later when Bruce had managed the feat.

"Uh…no," the billionaire said a bit sheepishly. "…I feel like a bit of an idiot, to be honest."

"Don't. You were no more flustered than your own father was the first time he held you."

"…Really? I mean…he was _flustered_? But he must have held a thousand kids before I came along."

"Certainly, he had. The same as you've carried injured or unconscious persons many times before now," he said in a voice pitched so as to be inaudible more than a few feet away. "But it's a bit different when it's your own child you're handling." Turning away with a slight smile before Bruce's mouth could finish dropping open, he bent and picked up the suitcase. "…Shall we, sir?"

…_Huh. __My__…well, I guess legally speaking, he will be soon enough._ A slight murmur escaped the warm figure leaning against him. _Don't wake up, kiddo. Not here. Sleep until we're in the car, at least._ He swallowed hard as he realized that the weight in his arms wasn't a burden in the least. _…Maybe more than just legally speaking._

Disturbed by how easily that thought had come, he focused on what he'd just learned about his father from Alfred. _Normally talking about one of them like that would have been painful, but…that was kind of nice,_ he thought as he cradled Dick through the empty corridors. _Maybe it's something to do with shared experience; I suppose this is sort of equivalent to taking a baby home from the hospital._ He squeezed the boy imperceptibly closer as they passed the front desk, a subconscious reaction to the threat of someone questioning his righto remove him from the premises. The bubblegum-chewing girl barely glanced up, though, and he surmised that the counselor had called up to let her know they'd be coming through. _I'm not complaining,_ he thought with relief as Alfred held the heavy front door open for him. _I'll take whatever shortcut gets him on the far side of that fence faster._

And then, seemingly as if by some miracle, they had passed onto the sidewalk and out to the car. No one stopped them; no alarms went off; no police – or worse, paparazzi, although Bruce knew they would descend once word got out – rushed forward. He ducked out of the damp, chilly air and waited in the backseat, still holding the boy, until Alfred leaned in and handed him a thick, fleecy wrap that was far superior to anything present in the Center. "Okay," he spoke quietly as he tucked it in. "That should be a lot less irritating."

The driver's door shut, followed by a patient sigh as the Englishman checked the rearview mirror. _As sweet of a sight as that is to my eyes, I doubt the first police officer to see it would agree. _"Master Wayne, you can't hold him while the car's moving," he explained. _I would have thought that was obvious, but evidently not._

"Well I can't put him down! He'll fall over!" Bruce retorted. _Besides,_ he thought in a small voice, _now that I've figured out to hold him I…I kind of don't want to let him go._

"Place him on the other side, sir, and buckle him in. He'll lean against the back of the seat. He won't fall over," he promised. The billionaire looked a little put out, but he complied. When he finally moved back to his own space, he left Dick trussed up like a cocooned caterpillar, covered in blanket from chin to toes and strapped securely in place. _I should have known you'd be overprotective from the start,_ Alfred mused as he finally started the engine. _Well, it won't hurt him any to start off, I don't suppose. Not after the neglect he's experienced these past few days._

They drove only a few blocks before parking again. "…What are we doing?" Bruce frowned.

"You're staying here with the young master," was replied, "while I go inside and pick up a few things. I'll be as quick as I can, but it's technically illegal for him to be in a moving vehicle without a booster seat. We can't drive all the way home with him like that." _Now that we've gotten him out of that hell-hole, we don't want something as foolish as a failure to follow simple safety laws to snatch him away from us. That would be nearly as wasteful as it would be tragic._

"…Oh. Yeah, I'll stay here with him."

"I thought as much, sir," he nodded drily, then headed inside.

Alone with the slumbering child, Bruce felt the reality of what he'd done begin to sink in. _…Well, Dick,_ he ventured silently, _I don't know what possessed me, but…this is happening. I don't know what the hell I'm doing, obviously – thank god for Alfred, I'd probably still be standing in that cell trying to figure out how to pick you up if it weren't for him – but…I'll do my best. I just hope my best is something close to enough. _

Almost as if he'd heard him thinking, the boy stirred. Finding his arms pinned beneath the blanket, he struggled in his half-conscious state for a moment, then opened panicked eyes. "What…Bruce?" he asked as he caught sight of the man across the seat.

"Relax, kiddo," he soothed, unclipping his harness and sliding into the middle, coming close without actually touching him. "You okay?"

"Um…I can't move?"

"Oh," the billionaire flushed slightly. "I can fix that. Here." _Note to self, he doesn't like having his arms pinned down,_ he thought as he undid everything he'd finished a mere ten minutes earlier. _I can't blame him for that, I hate it, too. _"Better?" he asked as Dick stretched, then slouched back against the seat.

"Uh-huh." His gaze wandered outside. "…Where are we?"

"Away from that place."

"You mean…" He turned back to stare upwards at him. "You mean I really don't have to go back there?"

"Never," Bruce shook his head firmly. "Never again, Dick."

"And…" He hesitated. _I hope this isn't going to be rude, but I really want to know. _"…Do I get to…to stay with you?"

"Absolutely. Just like I said before. We had to stop and get a few things on the way home, that's all. Alfred's inside the store right now, buying them."

"So…we're going to your house after that?" _Because I don't want to go to anyone else's house, Bruce. I really, really don't._

_Right. Home,_ he almost corrected. _Don't push it,_ he caught himself. _Home is still a sixteen foot trailer with a dust speck of a kitchen and stacked bunks for him. _"Yeah," he nodded. Neither spoke for a moment. "…Are you warm enough?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah. This is a nice blanket…" Small fingers played with the fabric as he spoke. "It's soft." Half-lidded eyes slid around the interior of the car. "It's nice in here," he commented tiredly.

"Thanks,"the billionaire smiled softly. _I've never used this word truthfully before, I don't think, but…this kid is adorable when he's trying not to fall asleep._ _And __when__ he's asleep. And…well…hell, he's just adorable, black eye and all. _"…Hey, Dick?" he spoke his name just before his lashes came down to rest on his cheeks.

"Uh-huh?"

"Just so you know…no one will hurt you for having nightmares anymore. It's alright."

"…Alfred told you about that?" he whispered. "About…Kevin?"

"Yeah. He did." Something stirred in his stomach, and he smacked it down. _Not now. _"Is that okay?"

"Uh-huh…'Sokay…" And with that, he passed out again.

_You just sleep, kiddo, and have good dreams. _Watching him doze was hypnotic; five minutes into it, Bruce was about to drop off into a nap himself. Only the popping of the car trunk kept him from doing so. _What…_ He looked out to find Alfred approaching, burdened with bags. _What did you __buy__? I thought we were just getting a booster seat!_

"…If you would just lift him for a second, Master Wayne?" the butler requested when he opened Dick's door a few moments later. Pulling the boy close once more, the billionaire did as he'd been asked, watching as a boxy lift with arms was put into place. _…Why do I have the feeling that that thing cost way more than it looks like it's worth?_ he wondered as he put him back down and buckled him in. _…Huh. The seatbelt __does__ seem to fit him better this way, though. Now he doesn't look like he'll be decapitated by the seatbelt if someone hits us._

"What else did you get?" he inquired as Alfred resumed his place behind the wheel.

"Just a few items that I thought he might require right off. Pajamas, for instance; we've none for children at the house, since I saw no point in keeping yours as you aged. Nightlights, cereal…things young people tend to find comforting. There will be plenty more that needs purchased, of course, particularly since I suspect that the suitcase you returned from your meeting with contains all of his earthly possessions, but there's time for that once he's well."

"…Right." _…What do kids even play with now? Video games? I guess we'll have to get some of those. _Alfred wouldn't like it, but Bruce was more than a little interested in having a console himself, now that he stopped and thought about it. _But more importantly…what does __he__ play with? There wasn't exactly a whole lot of room for toys in their trailer, but he had to have some. Maybe there will be something in his suitcase to give me a clue. I'll have to go through the library and find something kid-friendly to read; it always made me feel better as a kid when Alfred read stories out loud. I think that's kind of a universal thing… _

"…Are we ready, then, Master Wayne?"

He shook himself, glanced over at the boy, who was now a fair bit taller with his seat underneath of him, and nodded. "Ready." _…As ready as I'll ever be._ "Let's go home."

**Author's Note: There may not be a chapter tomorrow, as I'm feeling pretty under the weather and don't know that I'll be able to get one done by then. If I don't post tomorrow, we'll pick back up on Thursday. Happy reading!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Evidently, fluff is the best medicine. *wink* Thanks for all the get wells you sent with your reviews yesterday; they were much appreciated. Happy reading!**

Bristling with shopping bags, Alfred entered the room that had been prepared for the boy. _…Well, at least he consented to put him down without having to be told to do so,_ he noted, spotting the other two on the bed. The billionaire had laid the child on top of the covers and all but swaddled him in the blanket from the car; now he sat beside him, wearing a frown, his hand hovering over Dick's forehead.

"…Should he be this warm?" came a concerned question.

"He does have a slight fever, Master Wayne," the butler reminded, setting his load down and coming over. "…Which may have gone up slightly," he conceded as his own fingers touched flushed cheeks. "But we have medicine for him, and Dr. Thompkins will be here this evening, so it's nothing to get _too_ overwrought about."

"I'm _not_ overwrought," Bruce argued, turning his head away petulantly even as he scooted a tiny bit closer to the boy.

"…Of course not, sir. Completely out of character. Forgive me," he replied with a slight cattiness. _Come off it, my boy, it's painfully obvious that you're…what was his phrasing earlier? Ah yes, 'freaking out.' You're very good at hiding it, but I can already see the emotions you've pent up for so long – not just for him, but for many others whom you might have loved – sloshing over the edge. I can commiserate; only a few minutes in his waking presence was enough to convince me that he possesses an absurd amount of talent for charming others. I do hope, however, that you'll take care to not lose yourself too fast. I fear other parts of you will not take it well, and that would hurt everyone involved._ "Nevertheless, once we've gotten him settled I'll bring you up a cool rag. You can attempt to bring his temperature down while I fix you something for lunch."

_Lunch?_ His stomach rumbled, reminding him of the time. _…I guess I'd forgotten about it. Damn._ Rubbing his eyes, he didn't look up as Alfred rose from the mattress. _Maybe I __am__ a little distracted. Just…just a __little__. But he's __sick__…his first day here, and he's passed out with a fever. And there's so much I wanted to show him…_

After his patrol the night before, he had checked the room the butler had readied and, finding it suitable, retreated to his own to try and sleep for a few hours. It had been a pointless endeavor, however; he'd merely tossed and turned, struggling with the decision he'd made mere hours before. Finally he'd gotten up and stalked the hallways, stopping occasionally to stare at a painting or gaze out of a dark window. He hadn't wandered to soothe himself in years – although nightmares still plagued him almost nightly, he had rarely had trouble initially falling asleep since he'd taken up the cowl – but as he walked he found that the familiarity of the house still calmed him. After a while his pensive meandering had turned from a meditative exercise into a sort of planning, a preparation for the child's anticipated arrival.

…_He won't know the house,_ he realized as he reached the back of a rarely-traversed hallway. _God, if he got lost in this place, how long would it take us to find him? Still, I hate to tell him __not__ to explore; the only thing I feel like I need to hide from him is the one thing he's least likely to find, so long as I'm careful about my comings and goings from the cave. I've never been lax about that, anyway. I guess the best way to make sure he doesn't get lost is to help him get his bearings right off,_ he'd decided as he passed the wide glass doors that let out to the patio and pool. _I wonder if he swims? Even if he doesn't yet, he needs to know how. A high dive might be something he'd like, so long as he hasn't developed a bad aversion to falling since Saturday night. I couldn't blame him if he had…_

_I'll bet he's a reader,_ the thought had struck as he paused in the wide entryway that led to the library. _Even if he isn't accustomed to books, he'll probably pick up on them fast, as smart as he seems. He'll need to know where my study is, and Alfred's rooms, just in case he needs one of us late at night. _He'd jerked to a stop at the top of the stairs as he realized that the house proper stood empty many evenings when Batman was out and the butler was downstairs cleaning and awaiting his return. _Damn. Well…I could hide a monitor in his bedroom somewhere, and give Alfred something to let him know if he wakes up crying. That way he'd know to come up from the cave before Dick could get downstairs. Spying on him from day one, though…that feels wrong. Shit. This could be a problem…_

The issue had occupied him until he regained the hallway from which his bedroom let off. He'd been about to go in and attempt sleep once more when he made a sudden shift, moving across the hall to the space designated for the boy instead. Leaning in the doorway and letting his eyes travel along the bare walls, he'd reflected on the circumstances that had led to that moment. _What are the odds?_ he'd wondered. _We're born, things happen, and we get along as best we can; but what are the chances of a person like me meeting someone like him in circumstances that open up this sort of a path for us?_ He'd shaken his head at that, the too-large numbers hurting his brain at four in the morning. _I guess it doesn't really matter. The point is, it's happening. In a few more hours, this will be an occupied room. _It would normally be an unsettling thought for such a private man as he was to have, but strangely enough it smoothed over his worries. _…And I'm okay with that._

"…Master Wayne?" Alfred's voice interrupted his thoughts. Snapping back into himself, Bruce discovered that he'd been staring at the sleeping child. _How long as he been trying to get my attention?_ he cringed slightly. _So much for proving I'm not 'overwrought.'_

"Yeah, sorry," he answered.

"I said," _multiple times,_ the butler added in his head, "that we ought to get him changed and under the covers. I found some pajamas in his suitcase. It seems to me he might be more comfortable in clothing he's familiar with, particularly considering what he's been forced to wear these past few days."

"Makes sense to me." Handling the boy as if he might break him, he stripped him out of the thin gray jumpsuit and threw it to the floor in disgust. _He must have been freezing in that thing last night, if Kevin took his blanket like Alfred said,_ he pursed his lips. _It's amazing he doesn't have more bruises…oh,_ his stomach dropped as he turned him over and spotted a purple welt along one shoulder blade. _He does._ "…Do we have any fresh bruise cream?"

The growl in the question caused Alfred to whip around from where he'd been sorting out the few other garments that had come with the newest member of the household. "No, I was thinking to make some this evening," he replied, returning to the bedside. "Why- oh," he broke off. "…He did say that the other boy threw him around a bit before hitting him in the face." Troubled, he studied the bared skin. "He has several lighter ones here, as well," he gestured to his arms. "You're right, we ought to get something on those. I'll just fix you something quick to eat this afternoon and then begin work on the salve, if that's acceptable, sir."

"A sandwich is fine," Bruce traced the dark stain with his fingertips. _You didn't even complain,_ he thought sadly. _The whole time I was there while you were awake, you didn't say anything about being in pain, but I know this has to be sore, let alone your eye…no wonder you asked me to save you, kiddo._ "…He's starting to shiver again."

"Here," Alfred handed over the bottom half of the worn but warm set of night clothing that he'd discovered in the suitcase. "We'll address his injuries before we cover them up with clothing. Dr. Thompkins will likely want to look at them herself, in any case, so there's no point in making more work for ourselves." He picked up the jumpsuit from the floor and shook it out. "I'll get this laundered so that we can return it. No reason to keep it around."

"Burn the damn thing," the billionaire mumbled as he lifted Dick once more and pulled back the covers.

"…Pardon me, sir?" _I must have misheard that._

"I said throw it in the furnace."

…_He can't be serious, can he?_ "It is _technically_ property of the Center, Master Wayne, and therefore of the city," he reminded.

"I really don't care, Alfred," Bruce said, tucking the boy in tightly before he turned to face the other man, his eyes burning irefully. "If the city decides it's offended, I'll write them a check. I'll buy new clothes for every kid in that place, if that's what it takes," he swore, his voice rising, "but I do not want any evidence of that…that _children's hell_ in my house! Burn the damn thing!" he ordered forcefully.

"…Very well, Master Wayne," the Englishman acceded after a moment of stunned silence. "I will do so immediately, and then return with the cool rag I mentioned earlier." He paused. "…You might try getting a little medicine in him," he suggested. "There's a bottle of cough syrup in one of these bags. You'll have to wake him, I'm afraid, but it will help his fever."

"…Sure," the billionaire nodded. "Alfred?"

"Hmm?" he turned back on the threshold.

"…I wasn't angry at _you_."

"I know, sir. You're simply a bit distressed. And I can hardly blame you."

"Yeah, okay, Alfred," Bruce whispered to the empty doorway once he knew the butler was out of earshot. "You win. I'm distressed." _As if he didn't have enough to deal with already, they went and threw physical abuse in on top of it._ _But it's done now,_ he promised, carding his fingers hesitantly through dark locks. _I promise, kiddo. It's done. We'll make it all better. Whatever it takes. _

…_I don't want to wake him up,_ he decided after a few minutes of silent thought. _Why don't we see what Alfred thought you might need? Maybe there's something in there that can help without making me disturb you._ Rising, he began to unpack the bags lined up against one wall. "Hey, a humidifier," he said quietly. "Let's get that set up, why don't we? I'm thinking on top of the dresser…plug it in…and now we just need water. I'll be right back, kiddo." As he filled the machine's reservoir in the small bath attached to the bedroom, he realized that he had, for all intents and purposes, just been speaking to himself. _What the hell drove me to do that? I don't talk to myself,_ he glared at himself in the mirror. _And don't say you were talking to him. He's asleep, he didn't hear a word you said. You're losing it, Bruce Wayne. Pull yourself together._

He returned just as Alfred reappeared. "Excellent, you've found the humidifier. That should help."

"…Did you get rid of it?" the billionaire asked as he pushed the power button, filling the air with a low hum.

"Of course, sir. You asked me to." The Englishman assessed the situation with a brief glance. "You seem to be doing alright in here," he deemed. "I'll leave you to it."

"Uhh…" _But…what if I don't know what to do?_

"The house is quite large, Master Wayne, but I daresay I can return in less than a minute if necessary," Alfred read his uncertainty. "If you have need of me, simply step across the hall to your room and use the intercom. I'll only be in the kitchen and…downstairs." His eyes darted to the bed as he spoke the last word. _We'll have to discuss that. He's rather young to keep such a secret, but if the pair of you truly have the deep connection it would seem that you do then you're going to have difficulty keeping __anything__ from him. We've plenty of other things to decide, anyway; we're going to have to have quite the series of discussions, I think, now that he's actually here and this is all real._ "Your lunch will be up shortly."

"…Okay," he agreed slowly. "Did you bring the rag?"

"Right here. I thought you might just wet it in the bathroom, rather than dealing with a bowl of water," he commented as it changed hands. "_Cool_ water, not cold. You don't want to shock him with it, after all."

"…Right." _Cool water. God, kids are complicated._

A few minutes later he was perched back on the bed, the damp washcloth dripping slowly into his palm. Hesitantly, he drew it across Dick's heated forehead and down his good cheek, trailing onto his neck. When there was no cry or jerk of protest, his confidence grew slightly, his motions becoming easier. At first he skirted the discolored swelling that marked the left side of his face; realizing, however, that chilling the damaged flesh might help it heal faster, he began to dab at it carefully, leaving tiny smudges of moisture on the already shiny skin. _…I've got to remember to send a picture of this to the counselor. Linda,_ he reminded himself. _I don't want there to be any chance of that CPS bitch coming back later and trying to say that __I__ did this to him._

After several trips to the sink to re-cool the rag, he folded it neatly and laid it just below the boy's hairline, exactly the way he remembered Alfred having done when he was small and sick. When he was sure that his patient wasn't going to stir, he rose and moved to the window, staring out into the rain that had once again begun to fall. _I can't believe they didn't send you to the infirmary when you came back soaking wet from the funeral,_ he stewed, the weather stoking his memory of the day before. _…I should have given you my umbrella the minute you showed up. The way Soraya grabbed you, though, I wasn't sure how she would react to a stranger, and I sure as hell didn't want to agitate her by rushing up to you. _

_I wish I'd just taken you straight home from there, and let Alfred get you dry and warm. He's good at keeping people from getting sick after they've been out in the rain…_ Glancing up, he found that he could see the bed reflected in the upper pane and let himself relax slightly. _Don't get me wrong, I have no idea what I would have used for leverage to get her to release you at that point, but I should have at least tried. If I had just made up my damn mind a day earlier, or even twelve hours before I did, it might have been enough to keep you from Kevin. _

He let his head fall forwards to hit the glass with a _thunk_ as guilt burned in his guts. _I could have saved you from the son of a bitch, if I'd just gotten a hold of myself a little sooner…god damn it. I never have trouble making decisions,_ he lamented, _but with you…with you, I still don't know that I've made one I can stick with. I __want__ to, of course I want to, but…I'm not all there is to me, and the other part has been unusually silent. And that scares me, Dick. That scares me like you wouldn't believe._

The heavy sigh he breathed fogged up the window, forcing him to shift to the other side. _If I rub it off I'll smudge the glass,_ he grimaced as he moved, _and I can already see Alfred's look._ As his angle changed, so did his view; rather than the sweep of the yard, he now stared out at another wall of the house. _The upper east drawing room,_ he determined, considering the layout. _That's why there are no windows on this side. I didn't think about that when I told Alfred to put him in this room; we'll have to make sure we don't plan anything that runs late in there from now on._ Social events were only held at the manor when absolutely necessary, usually no more than twice a year, but he couldn't completely duck the obligation of playing host from time to time.

_Jesus, how is he going to react to people like that?_ he wrinkled his nose as he thought about the crowd he played 'Brucie' for. _He'll have to be introduced to those types of settings. Even if it wasn't expected now that he's…now that he's mine, he'll need to know how to act in society as he gets older. Not that I set a very good example on those occasions. Shit. I'll have to figure out how to explain to him that I act differently at balls and other garbage evenings, but without giving away Batman…does he even know that Batman's a thing?_ he wondered. _It's not like he's from Gotham, and I didn't see a TV or anything to indicate that his parents regularly monitored the news wherever they were…damn. There are a __lot__ of things that I didn't even think about having to try and explain or work my way around._

A tiny noise from behind him pulled him back into the room. "Hush," he bade, folding a leg underneath of himself on the mattress and setting the now-warm rag aside. "You're okay. I'm right here." The lump under the covers shifted as Dick thrashed onto his side. "Hey, c'mon now. You're safe, kiddo." He moved closer, acting on instinct to calm the boy without waking him. "Relax. It's okay." For a minute there was calm, and then a high-pitched whimper came.

"…Mama…"

_Oh, total hell. Don't go into a nightmare, please. Not in the middle of a fever, and on your first night here. I'm not ready for that. Please, I don't know what to do. What do you need, just…just someone nearby, or…?_

A little sob drove him to action. Stretching out above the covers, Bruce draped one arm over him, the other slipping beneath the troubled head as he pulled him in. "Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Hush, now, Dicky. It's okay. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Just relax…"

Slowly, the twitching and moaning ceased, the dream seeming to pass. Once it was gone, the billionaire considered his options. _…I should get up. Lunch should be here soon. But if I move, he might start up again, and I don't want that. He needs to rest. I could just stay like this, I guess, at least until Alfred comes up. I mean, I'm not uncomfortable…_ In fact, he could feel his own muscles beginning to relax as he listened to the shallow, even breathing beside him. _I didn't get much sleep last night,_ he allowed. _…But is it okay if I fall asleep in the same bed with him? Alfred never did that, even after I had a nightmare…CPS would have a field day if they found out, especially since that Randall woman is already hinting at my having inappropriate reasons for wanting to take him in. _

With that in mind, he tried to pull himself away. As he rose onto his elbow, however, a deep pout drew itself onto the boy's lips. Bruce made the mistake of looking back down just as one hand freed itself from the blankets and began to grope where his arm had been a moment before. That motion, combined with the desperately begging look on the damaged little pixie face, sent a lance of compassion straight through his heart. "Ooookay, kiddo, I get it," he whispered, eyes growing hot as he laid back down and felt fingers close on his wrist. "Screw CPS. If it makes you feel better for me to lay here with you, then I will." _Hell, maybe it will make me feel better, too,_ he considered, closing his eyes. _Actually…it kind of already __is__... _

It was his last conscious thought for several hours.


	17. Chapter 17

"Dr. Thompkins," Alfred greeted, a bit of warmth slipping into his voice as he held the front door open for her. "Thank you for coming. I hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience for you."

"Of course it wasn't," she waved off. "Although in the spirit of transparency, I should confess that the dinner you promised isn't hurting my attitude any. I haven't eaten since breakfast. Just…too busy," she sighed.

"In that case, you and Master Wayne can fight over fourth servings of chicken Marsala. He's been too preoccupied for food today, as well."

"Chicken Marsala," Leslie shook her head and let the butler take her coat. "Were you planning on making my favorite dish _before_ you knew I was coming over tonight, or are the two events related?" she arched an eyebrow playfully.

"Oh…perhaps, Dr. Thompkins. Perhaps," he answered, purposefully not clarifying which option he was referring to. "I happened to have all of the ingredients readily on hand, so I saw no reason _not_ to make it, knowing, as you stated, that it is your favorite dish."

_You 'happened' to have everything?_ the physician smirked. _I think that's a tiny white lie, Alfred. I think you've made __certain__ the ingredients are always on hand ever since you found out how much I love chicken Marsala._ "So where's my miserable patient?" she asked instead. "Sulking in his study about you not letting him out on patrol tonight because of the sniffles?"

"…I'm afraid I wasn't completely honest with you on the phone earlier, Dr. Thompkins. You _do_ have an ill person to attend to upstairs," he said quickly as a vague hope that maybe, just _maybe_, his invitation had been purely social appeared in her eyes. _I'm sorry, dear lady, I truly am, _he thought with real regret as he read her look,_ but…my first loyalty will always lie elsewhere, and you deserve more than that._ "…But it is not Master Wayne."

Shoving back her familiar disappointment in favor of curiosity, she cocked her head. "Well then, who is it? Another mask, or…?"

"No," he shook his head. _Perhaps it would be easiest to simply take you upstairs and let you see for yourself. I do hate to disturb them any sooner than necessary, though…_ The scene he'd found when he took in his elder charge's sandwich a few hours before had painted a smile on his face that lingered still. _Look at you,_ he'd crowed proudly as he noted how Bruce had all but encased the child in his arms. _Offering comfort rather than just cold retribution. How far you've come in just a few days, my boy…if I'd realized it was this easy to crack that shell of yours, we might have seen about taking someone in sooner. Of course, I don't know that it would have worked this way with any other child, considering how you've said he makes you feel..._ "May I offer you a cup of tea? It's a rather complicated story, better suited for the kitchen than the foyer," he suggested finally.

"Tea _and_ chicken Marsala? Now I know it's big news."

"Yes, Dr. Thompkins, it is indeed that," he nodded gravely, leading her down the hall. When they reached the kitchen, she automatically took a seat at the breakfast bar, folding her hands on the counter as she waited for him to begin.

Neither spoke as he prepared two cups. Nearly three decades of association had made them easy in one another's presence, and the silence was an amicable one. Had they conversed, they might have spoken openly on virtually any topic; romance was the only subject that consistently led them into a mournful verbal vacuum. _I wonder if it will be easier to not think about such things now that there is another young person in the house,_ Alfred mused, concentrating on his pouring so as not to meet the gaze that had settled on his hands. _There will be fewer moments for contemplation of matters of the heart, to be sure. Eight year old boys – even the quiet, lonely ones – tend to be quite handy at vanquishing those._

"…What are we drinking to?" Leslie asked as she accepted her cup.

It took him a moment. "Spring seems a worthy candidate."

"'A light exists in spring, not present on the year at any other period,'" the physician quoted, toasting. "'When March is scarcely here, a color stands abroad on solitary hills that science cannot overtake, but human nature feels.' Emily Dickinson." She sipped. "…You have yet to make me a bad cup of tea, Alfred."

The butler stood for a minute, staring into his beverage. _Would that poem seem so haunting had she quoted it after she heard the story about the boy?_ he pondered. _I rather doubt it._ "Your verse selection is exceedingly apropos, Dr. Thompkins," he informed her quietly.

"Is it?" she replied, a bit surprised.

"With the exception of the fact that it is now mid-March rather than the beginning of the month, yes, it is." _Just tell her, man,_ he cajoled himself._ What are you afraid of, that she'll be displeased? Even had it been your choice to make, how can she fault giving a child a home? She won't, and you know it, so end your game already._ "When you go upstairs in a short while," he began, "you will find a child."

"…Excuse me?"

"I said," he repeated evenly, "you will find a child. A boy, eight years of age, with a cold and a rather awful black eye."

A million questions flew through her head, jumbling together into a cacophony that nearly tied her tongue. "What…who…I mean…Bruce's?" she ventured. _He would have been a teenager, but…I suppose it's possible._

"Not biologically, no. But in nearly every other way, I think it's very likely that the answer will soon be a resounding yes, if it isn't already." He sighed. "I should start back at the beginning. I'll only confuse the both of us if I try and do this any other way but chronologically." Receiving her eager consent, he launched into the tale, starting with the billionaire's trip to the circus on Saturday night and concluding with their escape from the Center late that morning. _I won't tell her about the way they're asleep upstairs,_ he decided. _I'd prefer to witness her face when she sees them._

As the story went on, Leslie felt ire and disbelief rising in her at the same time. "…Bruce _actually_ said that?" she had to ask several times. _This is unbelievable. Not just about Bruce, but…everything. _"Who in their right mind puts a child who's guilty of nothing but having been left suddenly parentless into a _juvenile detention center_?" she raged when he finished. "That's…that's insanity!"

"I agree, especially considering the roommate they gave him after his first committed suicide," Alfred concurred. "But evidently it isn't illegal."

She gaped, then lowered her head into her hands. "…Sometimes I wonder why we still try, Alfred, when no matter what we do there are people in the world who think that's _okay_."

"I suppose we continue trying in the hopes that even one life can be saved, or made a little bit better. If nothing else, Master Wayne seems to have achieved a minor victory today. I haven't yet heard the full details of his meeting with the social worker – we've been busy with the boy – but I wouldn't be surprised in the least if Batman takes a rather personal interest in bringing this abuse of the law to the attention of the proper authorities."

"Good," she fumed, draining her cup. "…What's his name?"

"Richard, although my understanding is that he prefers to be called Dick."

"And?"

"…And, Dr. Thompkins?"

"What do _you_ think of him? Changes to Bruce aside," she specified. "I can guess how you feel about those."

"I've only had a short conversation with him," he cautioned, "but…he strikes me as being very intelligent. Quite the reader of people, as well, based on how quickly he accepted that both Master Wayne and I wanted only to help him. Given his recent experiences with new people, I wouldn't have been surprised in the least had he refused to allow either of us to come near. There's sure to be some psychological trauma, of course, not only from what he witnessed on Saturday but also from events since then, but I would judge him – again, on very little acquaintance – to be highly resilient. He seems to be handling everything admirably thus far." _A good combination of traits to come into this house with,_ he reflected. _A necessary skill set for anyone dealing with either Bruce Wayne or Batman._

"…I still have about ten thousand questions," Leslie said slowly, "and it's going to take a while for me to get it through my head that _Bruce_ up and took custody, even temporarily, of a child. I'll keep them to myself, though, since from the sound of things you haven't had a chance to find out the answers to most of them yourselves. And some of them," she stood, stretching, "are going to be pretty tough to _get_ answers to until Dick's feeling better. So I guess now that I have some idea of what I'm walking into we should head upstairs."

"Absolutely," Alfred agreed, gesturing for her to precede him through the doorway to the hall. "I've just finished a fresh batch of bruise cream," he said, snagging the jar out of the fridge, where he'd placed it to fast-cool and come to a spreadable consistency. "I thought you might want to see his injuries before I applied any, however, so I held off."

"I'm glad. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal, but it sounds like he took a pretty hard punch. Did he have any trouble talking?" she inquired as they ascended the stairs.

"None that I noticed. I'm certain Master Wayne would have said something had he thought there was cause for concern on that note."

"Good. With any luck he didn't fracture his zygomatic bone. I might want you to bring him down to the clinic tomorrow for x-rays, just in case. Besides, it'll strengthen your case if that social worker tries to pin it on you or Bruce. She sounds like a real piece of work."

"Yes…I imagine Ms. Randall would make a fascinating medical case study," Alfred opined tightly, "if only to serve as an example of how a person can live without so much as a trace of a heart."

"…That was bitter," Leslie commented, letting him take the lead when they reached the second floor. "He got to you, too, didn't he?" she asked, grinning softly.

He paused outside the bedroom door and turned to meet her eyes. "…Yes, Dr. Thompkins, I think it's safe to say that he rather did. You'll see why in just a moment."

Upon finding them as he had that afternoon, Alfred hadn't wanted to risk waking either with rustling through bags to find the nightlight. _Even with Master Wayne present, though, the young sir might be disturbed if he wakes up in total blackness,_ he'd judged. Since both seemed to be sleeping soundly enough to carry them through into the dark hours, he'd settled for leaving the desk lamp on. Now it cast just enough light for Leslie to make out the lump on the bed, although it took her a moment to figure out where the boy ended and the man began.

"…That _can't_ be Bruce holding him," she insisted in a low voice. _He would never let himself be so affectionate with another person, and to let his guard down like that while he's __sleeping__…that's not the Bruce that I know. I can't believe he hasn't woken up yet; the only times he doesn't come to the instant someone enters the room is when he's got a nasty concussion or when he's under enough anesthesia to knock out a rhinoceros. _

"I assure you, it is," the butler's lips curved into a pleased smile. "Rather unbelievable, is it not?"

_Unbelievable? More like a miracle. _"…Why do I get the feeling he'd bite me if I tried to move them apart without warning him?"

"I wouldn't be shocked in the least. Even I wouldn't dare attempt such a thing at this point." As if to prove his words, he stopped a short distance from the bed. "…Master Wayne? Sir, Dr. Thompkins has arrived."

"…Huh?" The billionaire stirred. _What the hell…_ The weight in his arms brought the past twelve hours back slowly. _Oh, right. Dick._ Cracking his eyelids, he found himself staring down at the child's hand, curled into his shirt in a death-grip. A glance upwards revealed the physician, her hand over her mouth to hide her beaming delight. _Well, this is awkward. Shit._ "…Leslie."

"Bruce," she nodded back. "Did you have a nice nap?"

"…Yeah, actually," he said a little defensively. _I didn't even have any nightmares, I don't think. _He paused in his attempt to gently pry the boy's fingers from his collar. _…I didn't have any nightmares. How long was I out?_ "Alfred, how long did I sleep?"

"I'd say about six and a half hours have elapsed since I found you in bed, sir," he answered as he moved back to the door and flipped on the ceiling light.

_Holy fuck. I slept __six hours__ without a nightmare, and no one even had to concuss me._ He blinked at the still-slumbering face that had been buried against his chest until a moment before. _…What the hell are you, kiddo, my own personal dreamcatcher?_ _Not that I'm complaining, but…I haven't slept that long, uninjured and undisturbed, in…god, when __was__ the last time?_ "…Oh," was all he managed as he sat up, finally pulling loose. "Why didn't you wake me?"

"You seemed comfortable. I saw no reason to disturb you."

"Uh-huh." _More like you wanted to see Leslie's face when she walked in and caught me cuddling him._ He paused again, frowning. _…Wait, is __that__ what cuddling is supposed to be like? It's not nearly as unpleasant as it always sounded..._ "He's still warm," he turned to the woman who was now making her way to the side of the bed. "I had it down for a little while before I…uh…fell asleep," he looked away.

"I see he's had no cold medicine," Alfred threw in, straightening from one of the half-full bags with the unopened bottle of cough syrup in his hand.

"He seemed comfortable," Bruce crossed his arms, purposefully mimicking the Englishman's words. "I didn't see any reason to disturb him."

"Well, I think we're going to have to do exactly that before I leave," Leslie said, carefully pushing dark locks away from the bruising that marked the left side of Dick's face. "Ouch," she winced as she examined the area. "I _definitely_ want x-rays on this in the morning."

"X-rays?" the billionaire's brow knit. "Why?"

"I want to make sure there aren't any fractures."

"_Fractures?!"_

"I'm sure there _aren't_ any, Bruce," she assured him, "but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Besides, like I told Alfred, it will help your case down the road if anyone tries to say _you_ hit him."

"Of course I didn't hit him!"

"I _know_, Bruce! Would you calm down?" she chided. "I heard the whole story. Even if I hadn't, I'd know you weren't the one who hit him. Relax. He'll be fine."

His mouth worked for a minute. "…He's got another bad mark on his shoulder," he spat out eventually.

"Well, let's look at that, then," she nodded. _Oh my god, it is __adorable__ how overprotective you already are of him,_ she squealed to herself with a girlishness she rarely felt anymore. _If I wasn't excited to meet him already, I sure as hell am now. He must really be something special, to have brought all this out in you so fast…_ "That's not nearly as bad," she opined when the billionaire had rolled the boy carefully onto his stomach and pulled the blanket back. "It probably doesn't _feel_ very good, but it will go away. The same thing with the ones on his arms," she fingered those spots gently. "Just bruises. Kids get them all the time," she advised the man blocking half of her light as he leaned in. "So get used to it."

The rest of the basic exam went quickly, years of practice having honed her technique. "Well, he's got a cold, that's for sure. Usual procedure on that, Alfred," she commented over her shoulder. "Meaning plenty of medicine, blankets, rest," she defined for Bruce. "Give him a couple of bowls of Alfred's chicken noodle soup, and he should be able to kick it right out of his system. That always seemed to do it for you, at least. He's healthy, overall," she assessed as she dropped her stethoscope back into her bag. "Too skinny, I think – I'll weigh him tomorrow to see how he compares to the standard guidelines – but in good shape. I'd say once he's back on his feet you're going to have quite the bundle of energy to chase around the house." Catching Bruce's frown, she winked. "It'll be good for you. Keep you from sitting in you study wasting away over earnings reports."

"I don't," he said distantly. "…Don't you think he should have woken up during all of that?" _Maybe his fever's too high. You didn't even check it with the thermometer, you just used your hand. That can't be very precise, even with practice._

Leslie sighed, gave him a pitying look, and dug a thermometer out of her bag. "…You'll like this, Alfred," she commented. "I just got it. Watch." It beeped as soon as she'd dragged it lightly across the boy's forehead. "One hundred point two. He's just tired and sick, that's all. Nifty, isn't it?" she went on, handing the device to the butler so he could examine it. "It makes screaming babies a heck of a lot easier to deal with, let me tell you."

"Don't you question its accuracy?" the Englishman asked.

"…Always the old-fashioned one, aren't you?" she shook her head, amused. "If it's not mercury in glass, it's too modern for you."

"Mercury gives an accurate reading without relying on a battery, Dr. Thompkins. I simply prefer not having to wonder if I'll be able to take a temperature in a blackout, that's all."

"I'm not saying I don't still carry an old reliable around," she replied, tucking it away and pulling out a penlight. "Just that it's kind of fun to see kids' faces when you tell them this one's a magic wand."

Bruce snorted. "A magic wand? Where was that story when _I_ was a kid?"

"I tried once, when I got my first tympanic thermometer," she told him, crossing her arms. "You looked me straight in the face, said magic was – and I quote – 'a load of bull,' and refused to allow me to do anything else until I apologized for trying to lie to you."

Alfred coughed to cover his laughter. "I had forgotten about that, Dr. Thompkins," he cleared his throat. "Thank you for the reminder."

"Well, it _was_ a load of bull," the billionaire said flatly.

"Sure, but that didn't mean it couldn't have been fun if you'd _let_ it be." She sighed. "Anyway, I'll let you wake him up. I want to do a few basic tests, just to make sure his eye wasn't damaged from the blow he took." With that, she moved back to the very edge of the bed, trying to give him plenty of room to work.

"…Kiddo?" Bruce started gently, rubbing his arm. "Dick? C'mon, wake up for a minute. You need to take some medicine."

"Hm-mm," he made a face, stirring slightly.

"Yeah, you do. It'll help you feel better. Besides, there's someone here who wants to meet you."

"Mmph…cold," he complained with a cough.

Bruce pulled the covers back up over his shoulders. "There. Now wake up for a minute. Don't be rude, Alfred will get mad."

"_Really_, Master Wayne!" The butler sent him a hard look. "I hardly want a reputation as a tyrant when I've barely met him myself, if you please."

"Not a tyrant," Dick mumbled. "…Got rid of Kevin."

"There, see? Your reputation is safe," Leslie calmed the older man.

Her voice was enough to drive the boy to open his eyes. "…Hi," he greeted quietly, staring at her as he scooted backwards a little. He didn't stop until his back was against Bruce's leg and a hand had landed on his elbow.

"Hi, Dick," she answered with a smile. "I'm Dr. Thompkins, but you can just call me Leslie, okay?"

His gaze slid up to Bruce, then back to her. "…Okay."

"Good. So here's the deal; I need to check out your eyes, just to make sure that mean guy who hit you didn't do any damage. It won't hurt, I promise. You don't even have to get up for it; we can do the whole thing while you're lying down."

"…I haven't had any vision problems since Kevin hit me," he informed her. "Honest, I haven't."

"I believe you," she nodded. "But sometimes there can be things wrong that you don't notice until down the line. If that's the case with you, the sooner we find out about them, the sooner we can get them fixed. Does that make sense?"

"…Yes," he nodded.

"So we can go ahead and do a few quick tests?"

"Sure. So long as they're really not going to hurt."

"I have to shine a light in your eyes, but it shouldn't _hurt_ hurt," she showed him the penlight. "Okay?"

He chewed his lip for a moment until a gentle squeeze on his elbow encouraged him to give in. "…Okay."

She went as fast as she could. "…Well, the good news is, I didn't see anything wrong. The bad news is, I'd still like to have you come down to my clinic tomorrow morning so I can get some pictures of your head."

"…You want to take x-rays? Why, if there's nothing wrong?" he asked, peering at her.

_Damn, Alfred, he __is__ smart._ "Okay, Dick. I'm going to quit with my kid spiel, because I think you've made it pretty clear that you're beyond that," she smiled. "I didn't see anything wrong with your eyes, but I'd still like to take x-rays, just like you said. There's a slight chance that you fractured what's called the zygomatic bone – your cheekbone – when you were hit. I'm pretty sure you _didn't_, but I'd like to look, just to be safe. Plus, if we take x-rays and document the injury now, it looks a lot better for Bruce if anyone tries to say that he's the one who hit you."

As she'd thought it might, bringing the billionaire into the discussion immediately wiped any contention off of the boy's face. "Oh. That's okay, then." _If it will help Bruce, I'll do it._

"Perfect. Now, I think Alfred has some cold medicine for you, so I'll just leave you be and head downstairs. Do you think you can eat something before you fall back asleep?"

"…I'm not really hungry," he directed more towards Bruce than towards the asker of the question.

The man studied his face for a moment. "Does it hurt to chew?"

"I dunno," he shrugged. "I haven't eaten since before he hit me."

_Oh, kiddo, why didn't you say that before?_ "When _was_ the last time you ate?" he asked anxiously. "Do you remember?"

"Um…yesterday morning? Before the…the funeral," the boy's voice dropped in volume. "But I didn't really get much because the mean lady was in a hurry to leave."

_So you haven't had a solid meal in two days, at least. Christ, no wonder you're so skinny. But you said you're not hungry…is that physical, or psychological? I'm betting on the latter._ "I'll bet we can find something soft for you, so you don't aggravate your face. What do you think, Alfred? Got something in mind?"

"How does applesauce sound, young sir?" he asked, trying to ignore the scandalized expression Leslie had put on when they heard how long it had been since the child had had a proper meal. "I can make you broth if you prefer something hot, but it will take a little while."

"I like applesauce," he answered. He hadn't really felt hungry since Sunday morning, when he'd had his epiphany about his mother no longer being around to get upset when he took too-big bites, but it was obvious that what he'd said about not having eaten in two days had bothered the man behind him. _I don't want to worry him. He's already doing so much for me…_ "Maybe…do you think you could put cinnamon in it? It's okay if not, I like it plain, too," he added quickly.

"Cinnamon won't be a problem, Master Dick. I'll have it up for you shortly." He handed the cough medicine and bruise cream over to Bruce. "If you would, sir, I'd like to speak with Dr. Thompkins downstairs for a moment."

"Sure," he took it.

"Bruce," Leslie stopped him as she stood up. "Wait until he's had something to eat to give him the medicine. It won't upset your stomach that way," she explained to the child.

"…Oh. That makes sense." He yawned, his hand not quite getting in front of his mouth in time. "Sorry," he apologized.

"It's all right," Alfred allowed. "One's reflexes are often slower than usual when one is sick. No harm done."

"Thanks…"

All three adults watched as his eyelids slipped closed. "…I'll see you downstairs, Bruce," Leslie said before she followed the butler into the hallway. "…They let that poor baby go _two_ _days_ without eating?" she hissed angrily as they approached the stairs. "Wasn't anyone paying _attention_?"

"It seems that the ones who care in the Center are so busy trying to keep it from pure anarchy that such details slip through the cracks," Alfred replied. "Especially when the child in question isn't technically registered to their care."

"Well, he's here now," she breathed, trying to dispel her upset. "So it's a safe bet that _that_ won't happen again."

"Certainly not." He paused. "I think I'll grind up half of a multivitamin into his applesauce."

"It won't hurt him any." She sighed. "This isn't going to be easy, Alfred. You know that, right?"

"It was no picnic the first time around, Dr. Thompkins. And yet, it was still worth it, and I wouldn't change the decision I made then for anything."

"Sure. But will Bruce come to the same conclusion? Do you think he can really handle this, even with the changes that have happened in the last few days?"

He considered the question all the way into the kitchen. Only when he'd filled a bowl with applesauce, treated it with cinnamon as promised, and begun to grind up a portion of a pill to mix in did he speak. "I think it's going to be a very unpleasant battle, when it's finally joined," he answered slowly over the grind of the mortar and pestle. "But I've never given up on the loving being that barricaded itself away so long ago. That's why I stayed; I knew he was still in there. I simply didn't know how to draw him back out. I wasn't the right person for the job. If there is even the slightest chance that that little boy might be the one capable of doing what I've failed to manage after nearly two decades of trying, then what right do I have to choose _now_ to stop believing it's possible?"

"…None, I guess."

"Precisely. None. And even if I _did_ have that right, I couldn't bring myself to exercise it. I don't know if he can win this war with himself, but I'm damn sure hoping that he can. He knows his own physical strength to the last ounce, and he's explored his mental strength enough to be very familiar with its limits. As for his emotional strength…none of us know where that stands. But based on how he's treated the boy thus far, and on such short acquaintance…well, Dr. Thompkins, if we've any luck at all his heart may prove to be the strongest of the three."

**Author's Note: The lines that Leslie quotes are from Emily Dickinson's 'A Light Exists in Spring.' **


	18. Chapter 18

After Bruce had managed to get most of the applesauce and a dose of cold medicine down the sleepy child's throat, he tackled the issue of leaving him alone. "Dick…" he started, shifting discontentedly. "…are you going to be okay if I go downstairs for a little while?" _I don't want to, but Alfred won't be happy if I ignore Leslie after she made a special trip out. _

_I don't want to be alone,_ Dick ached to cry out._ I don't want the bad dreams to come back. I don't even know how far away you'll be…but…if I'm too needy you might not want me to stay here anymore. I'll just…I'll just try and stay awake until you gets back. Then I'll be alone, but I won't have nightmares, at least. I got some sleep earlier, so it should be easy._ "You have to eat, too," he conceded finally. "I'll be okay."

"…You're sure? It's alright if you aren't," Bruce checked, not really believing him. _No one's __that__ resilient, but…if he says he'll be all right, I'm willing to give it a try. I don't want him to feel like I'm treating him like a baby._

Given a second chance, he almost reversed his decision and begged the man to stay with him. Instead, he swallowed hard and made an inquiry. "You're going to come back when you're done, though, right?"

Bruce brushed a hand over the boy's hair. "Sure I will," he nodded. _Was there another option?_ he puzzled. _Because __I__ didn't think there was. _"Do you need anything before I go?"

"Umm…" He tried to concentrate through the fog that the cough syrup was already dropping over his tired mind. _I wish I had Elinor,_ he thought, not having looked much beyond the edges of the bed in his exhaustion and assuming that his suitcase still resided with Miss Linda at the Center. _I'd be allowed to have her here, probably._ "…No, I'm okay," he shrugged, his voice carrying a note of longing once he remembered the elephant.

"…All right. Well…get some rest."

"Sure," he smiled vaguely. _I don't want to go to sleep without you nearby. What if I scream? No one else understands…I know Alfred said it was okay, but he's far away, too...can't sleep…can't scream…don't want to…_

_…That was easy,_ Bruce thought as he watched him pass out. _What's in that cold medicine you bought, Alfred? I know he was tired, but damn. _Suddenly worried, he double-checked the dosage instructions, fearing he'd misread and given him too much. _No, I did exactly what it says,_ he frowned. _I guess he really __is__ just that tired._ Standing up and turning away, he headed for the door, then paused as he passed the open suitcase.

…_Maybe there's something in here he can hold onto,_ he thought, recalling the surprising strength of the fingers that had been clenched in his shirt when he'd woken up. _He seems to be very tactile-oriented, judging from the way he's been calming down when I come into contact with him. I suppose that's logical for an aerialist; you wouldn't always be able to see your next handhold, so good spatial orientation and a sensitive and reactive sense of touch would be important. If that's the case, having something he can squeeze - especially something familiar - might keep the bad memories at bay._

He rifled through the clothes that Alfred had stacked neatly back in the bag earlier, and quickly came across an obviously much-loved stuffed elephant. One side of his lip twitched upwards as he considered it. _I'd bet good money that you got to come along from the circus because you're special to him. You've probably got tons of experience helping him sleep, so…I'll just let you do your work._ Tucking the creature securely under the boy's arm, his slight smirk turned into a legitimate smile. _Wow. That's…damn, that would be cute if your face wasn't bashed up. Well, no,_ he amended. _It's still cute. Just…aggravating, at the same time._

_Shit, I have to get out of here,_ he shook himself and strode out into the corridor. _What did I just call him, 'cute'? Jesus. Some future penitentiary resident smacked him around, yes, and that's terrible, sure, but that doesn't mean I have to be so damn sappy. Helping him avoid nightmares is one thing, but cooing over him is entirely too fucking far. Who else is going to do it, though, if not me?_ He frowned. _Everybody__ else, if Leslie is any indicator_. _It's not the same, though. It's not parental._

He froze at the top of the stairs. _Whoa.__ No. I don't dare even begin acting like I'm trying to be…like that. An adult taking care of a child who has no one else is one thing, but that word…no. How would I have felt if Alfred had tried to take __my__ parents' place? Except…except that he kind of did exactly that, and in a lot of ways. I don't think he was trying to, but…huh. I never really stepped back and thought about it like that before now._

"…Master Wayne?"

Bruce snapped back to the present. "Sorry, Alfred," he said softly, apologizing for more than just his tardiness to dinner.

The butler studied him. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked finally, concern tingeing his voice. _You look as if you've just taken a blow to the head._

"Uh…yeah. I was just…it took me an extra minute to get him settled. I didn't mean to keep you waiting." He descended, looking stolidly downwards in order to avoid meeting the eyes of the man who had raised him.

_I think it was a bit more than that, but I won't press,_ Alfred decided. _You're undergoing so many little personality shifts right now, it seems; there's no point in delving too deeply until you've begun to settle again. _"Has he gone back to sleep, then?"

"Yeah. Did you see the stuffed elephant in his suitcase?"

"…Now that you mention it, I do recall a few small toys being present. A stuffed elephant, you said?"

"Mm-hmm," he nodded as they moved towards the dining room. "…Haly thought he might have gone to the circus' elephants when he went missing on Saturday night."

"Did he?" _…Are you rambling, sir, or sorting something out for yourself?_

"Kind of a weird favorite animal for a kid to have, isn't it? An elephant?"

_Ah. The latter, then. His favorite animal; that's a very important thing to know. _"I don't suppose it is for a child who grew up with them."

…_You say that like he's all done growing up,_ the billionaire thought with a hint of disappointment. _He's not, obviously, but still. Has he always liked elephants? Did he prefer something else first?_ Something else struck him. _What was __my__ favorite animal as a kid, before…before? I don't even remember…a duck? I think it was ducks. What the hell kind of a kid has a thing for __ducks__? _"Yeah, that's true."

"_There_ you two are," Leslie said poking her head out into the hall. "…Did he go to sleep okay?"

"He seemed to," Bruce replied. The last image he had of the boy, passed out with a worn worry-animal in the crook of his elbow, flashed behind his eyes. "He said he'd be okay for a little while."

"Good," Alfred opined. "That gives you time have dinner. You require sustenance just as he does, sir. If you would care to take your seats, I'll bring in your plates."

"You're not eating with us, Alfred?" the physician asked as she moved around the table. She made the same inquiry every time she dined at the manor, and had long ago given up on ever getting an affirmative answer, but somewhere along the line it had become a bit of a joke between them.

"Not this evening, Dr. Thompkins," he gave his standard reply. "…But I will remain in the room, if that's acceptable, since I assume the discussion will revolve around Master Dick."

"Yes, it will," Leslie said pointedly, sitting. "Starting with this, Bruce; I'm glad you care for him – and you obviously do, so don't argue – but are you sure you thought this through?" The conversation she'd had with Alfred had done nothing to ease her fears; on the contrary, it had only heightened them. _If anyone would know whether or not this is something he can handle, it would be Alfred._ _The fact that he's so uncertain about it…that's not good. That tells me that this is a decision that's likely to hurt you, Bruce, and possibly badly._

"I _over_thought it," he practically snapped back. "If I had just gone with my first instinct, he wouldn't have a black eye and a fear that screaming for his parents will get his jaw broken. If I'd thought about it for another night, I get the feeling there might not have been much of him left to bring home. So yes, Leslie, I'm pretty sure I considered it as thoroughly as I possibly could." _I shouldn't have waited to get him, god damn it. Thanks for reminding me of that, _he thought snarkily.

"…Are you planning on keeping him long-term?" she inquired, marking his tone only with a raised eyebrow. Thank you, Alfred," she added as he set a plate in front of her.

"Of course I am. I can't send him back to that place. And that's right where they'd put him, too, is back in one of those cells." Food was set down before him, and he dug in without another word, beginning to become angered by her questioning. _…She doesn't think I can do this. _

"He'd be cycled through the system, Bruce, he wouldn't end up back there."

"You weren't in that office this morning, Leslie. His social worker outright _told_ me that if he bounces back to CPS she'll stick him right back at the Center."

"She can't do that unless he's committed a crime, can she?"

"She probably couldn't, if she wasn't sleeping with the facility director and keeping this all under wraps."

"So turn her in!"

"It's not that simple," he shook his head. "And it's a very long story, so don't ask. It's on my list of things to do, right below figuring out who made Dick parentless to start with." _…Although if the Randall woman is going to throw other boys into the same situation, those two cases might have to switch priorities,_ he considered. _I hate to push the murder investigation off, but…there could be other lives in danger at the Center. Shit. I'm sorry, kiddo…I swear to you, I __will__ find the person who took them from you._

"…In that case," she continued, "what are you going to do with him?"

"What do you mean, what am I going to _do_ with him? He's a kid, he'll do…normal kid things," he waved. "School, friends, et cetera."

"'Normal kid things?' Do you really think it will be that easy?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You can't just drop him into school, Bruce. Even if he was _used_ to attending regular schools, which from the sound of things he may not be, he's going to need some time to recover before he's ready for that level of social interaction." Her gaze shifted briefly to Alfred before she continued. "…It took you two years to be ready, remember? And even then, I've always wondered if it was too soon."

"He's _not_ me," the billionaire said forcefully. "And he won't _become_ me, either."

"…Oh, Bruce, tell me that's not why you took him in," she said mournfully, staring across the table at him with damp eyes. "Tell me there's more to it than that." _There has to be, you weren't curled up with him a while ago just because it was something that __wasn't__ done with you…was it?_

He set his fork down, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "…There _is_ more to it," he admitted. "I just…I just don't know what yet. Anyway…wanting to keep him from going down the same path I did is only part of it." _I can't explain the rest. I can't. It doesn't make any sense to me, and I have this horrible feeling that it's something I can't measure or weigh or do __anything__ like I normally would to figure it out._

"It's rather late in the school year to start him off, in any case," Alfred contributed from where he stood. "And until we know where he stands academically speaking, he'd be impossible to place. Did Miss Bergman mention any testing that might have been done in that regard?"

"No," Bruce shook his head. _He's smart, though, we know that. Even if he's behind from lack of a formal education, he'll catch up quick._

"Psychological exams would be helpful, too," Leslie added.

His head shot up. "He's not a damn guinea pig!"

"I know that," she said gently. "And I also know you hated those exams when they were given to you. But that doesn't mean that they aren't useful tools." No one spoke for a minute. "…I'm sure he could tell you what kinds of tests he was given, if any, while he was at that…that place."

"I'm not sure I'd trust the results, if his social worker touched them," the billionaire grimaced. "Especially the psych stuff." _…But I don't want to put him back through those, either,_ he winced. _You're right, Leslie, I did hate those tests as a kid, mostly because I kept having to do them over and over again. I know they were supposed to help, but when the answers kept coming back the same I shouldn't have been the only one able to realize that the methods being used weren't working._ "…But he's got enough on his mind without thinking about the place. I'll ask the counselor at the Center about it. They had to have been doing _something_ with him while he was there; maybe they tested him and just failed to mention it." _We were a little busy this morning. That was the last thing on my mind._

"Very good, sir," Alfred nodded.

"…Well, that's a start on that," the physician said. "My next question is this; if you _do_ keep him long-term, what are you going to tell him?"

"…About downstairs?"

"Yes. About Batman, and you, and…and everything."

Alfred watched his elder charge silently. He'd said nothing during the discussion about keeping the boy because he agreed entirely with the other man; the child was in the manor, and in the manor the child needed to stay. On the issue of the billionaire's secret identity, however, he was torn. _I don't know how you can possibly keep it from him, given his clearly high level of intelligence and your nightly absences. At the same time, however, it's such a huge secret for anyone to hold, let alone a child…_

"He doesn't need to know about it. Not…not right away, at least. Besides, he might not even know Batman exists, and I'm not going to make any efforts to, ah, enlighten him if he doesn't." He shook his head. "I'm still working on it, Leslie. I don't have all the answers you want. But I _do_ have a question for _you_."

"What is it?"

"Why are so resistant to my keeping him?"

She started. "…I'm not resistant. I'm just worried, for both of you."

"…You don't think I can do this, do you?" His look was too curious to be considered a glare.

"I don't want to see either of you get hurt, that's all."

"Life is hurt, Leslie. You know that."

Her lips pursed. "…Life is love, too, Bruce. I know you see that, regardless of what you might say or how you might act to the contrary. What matters the most, though," she commented, rising and setting her folded napkin on the table, "is whether or not the little boy upstairs still believes that, after everything that's happened."

"I think he does. That's part of why he's here, and why he'll _stay_ here; he still believes, and he…he can still _show_ that he believes. I won't risk being the one to kill that, and I won't stand by and watch someone _else_ destroy it, either."

She watched him for a heavy second. _You're trying so hard to do right by Dick,_ she pondered sadly, _but I have to wonder if it's what's right for __you__._ _He seems to have changed you for the good now, but…the longer I think about what Alfred said in the kitchen earlier, the more afraid I become. _"Well, you seem determined, at least."

"I am." _I think. I hope. I don't know._

"…In that case, I'll see you – and Dick - in the morning. Dinner was delicious, Alfred, thank you."

"I'll see you to the door, Dr. Thompkins," the butler offered.

"That would be nice."

"Leslie." Bruce's voice turned them both back just before they entered the hallway.

"…Yes?"

He stood and approached, towering over her without an ounce of threat in his posture. "…He's worth the risk."

"Beyond the simple premise of his being a child, how can you possibly know that?" she replied quietly.

"I just…do. Call it…call it a hunch. A strong one." _Those have been working out for me lately, so I see no reason not to trust this one._

She sighed. _Bruce Wayne, being technically irrational. I never thought I'd see that. _"…Then you have to do it."

"I know." He paused. "Will you help me?"

"…You know, Bruce," she blinked at him, surprised by the directness of his request for help, "I don't think I know who you are today, but…I kind of like it."

"Yeah, well…me, too," he said grudgingly. "Goodnight, Leslie."

"Goodnight, Bruce." She patted his elbow. "…Nine sharp, please. Saturdays are always hellish."

"Right. See you then." When he was alone in the dining room, he moved back to his chair and dropped into it. _Alfred. Leslie. Clark. If all three of them can be convinced, everyone else should be easy, right?_


	19. Chapter 19

"Word must not be out yet," Leslie said by way of greeting when Bruce stepped into her office the next morning. "I didn't see Anna have to beat back a crowd when you came up the sidewalk."

"If you're talking about the shutter sharks, no, they haven't started circling," the billionaire verified, sitting down and shifting Dick, who was passed out in his arms, into a more comfortable position. He murmured, but didn't wake. "That cough syrup makes him tired, but it's not enough to really keep him asleep," he explained. "He'll be fine when it's time to start."

"…Any nightmares?" she asked gently, surmising that the boy's current sleepiness was as much a result of a lack of solid rest as it was a side effect of his medication.

Bruce grimaced. Once Alfred had returned from the foyer the night before and begun clearing away the dishes, he had gone back upstairs to check on the child. He'd found him awake, curled against the headboard with tears running down his cheeks and the stuffed elephant squished tightly in his arms.

"Hey, kiddo," he'd greeted, sitting on the edge of the bed. "…You okay?"

"Huh-uh," Dick hiccupped back, shaking his head.

"Bad dream?"

"Y-yeah…I'm so tired," he confessed, "but I don't wanna g-g-go to sleep because I'll s-see it all again…"

He shifted closer, crossing his legs beneath himself. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged. "…You were there. You saw what happened. It's…it's just the same thing, over and over again, only I know what's going to happen and I still can't stop it…I can't make it stop hurting, every time…it's j-j-just like you _said_…" With that he bent forward, covered his head with his hands as if he was anticipating blows, and renewed his sobs.

Bruce managed to hold back for roughly one second before he leaned over and pulled the boy in, rocking him as he cried. _I hope my holding you is enough, kiddo, because I really don't know what else to do…_ "I know," he whispered, aching for them both. "I know it hurts. It's okay." _Let it go. Let it out. That's the only way you stand a chance of keeping it from eating you up inside. Don't let it eat you up…_

"The nightmares don't go away, either, do they?" came a hoarse question a few minutes later. "You still have yours, don't you?"

"…Yeah," he admitted. "I do. You know something, though?"

"What?"

"I didn't have any earlier."

"…Earlier?" The question was cautious.

"You might not remember. You fell asleep in the car, and then we brought you here-"

"-And I woke up in bed," Dick finished for him. "Sure. But…oh!" He tilted his damp face upwards. "Did you lay down with me?"

"I did."

"…Huh," he frowned.

"What?" _Please don't think that's weird. I don't know the last time I slept so well…_

"I didn't have any bad dreams earlier, either. At least I don't remember any."

"You didn't. I'd have woken up if you did."

"Oh. Well…I mean…do you think you could keep the nightmares away from me tonight, too? Please?" he asked, trying to make it sound like a passing request rather than the desperate plea it really was.

_…I should be downstairs, getting ready for patrol,_ he reminded himself sternly. _There's the investigation into Randall to start, plus leads on the Grayson murders to follow up on, __plus__ the regular tasks to be completed. None of that will get done if I lay down. I have an obligation to the city…but I also have an obligation to him, and not just because I signed a piece of paper this morning. _ _Besides, __I'd__ like to have a good night's rest, too._ Even if he put all of that aside, the boy's request had been so full of cloaked hopefulness that it physically hurt to think of denying it. "…I'll make you a deal, Dick," he replied, ignoring the huffy discontent in the back of his mind. "I'll take care of your bad dreams, and you take care of mine. How's that sound?"

"…What if I can't?"

Bruce had given him a half-smile. "You already did once, kiddo. I don't think you'll have any trouble doing it again."

And thus they'd ended up sleeping under the same covers for the rest of the night. Batman made no appearance in Gotham; the billionaire's luxurious sheets weren't turned down; and Alfred went to bed all but grinning over the contented look his unconscious elder charge was wearing when he stuck his head into the room to check on them.

"…Bruce?" Leslie ventured when he didn't speak for a long moment.

"Yes," he answered, pulled away from his memory of the perfect sleep he'd woken up from a few hours earlier. "He had a nightmare. But that's no surprise."

"No," she gave the bundle in his arms a pitying look, "it isn't." There was a lull. "…There was one other thing I meant to ask you last night."

He stiffened. "…Yes?" _Don't launch into your doubts, Leslie. Not when he might hear you._

"How are _you_?"

It was such an unexpected question that it took him a moment to process it. "I'm fine," he said. "Why?"

"Why do you think, Bruce? Really," she shook her head. "I know what you witnessed on Saturday night, and everything with Dick since…I know it hasn't been easy for you, getting to this point." _That's why I fear how much more difficult it might become,_ she kept to herself.

"Did Alfred tell you that?" he asked a bit scathingly. _…If there's anyone he'd share something like that with, it's you._

"Alfred gave me the facts. He didn't have to explain the emotions behind them." she responded, carefully neutral.

"…I'm fine." _Most of the time. When…when I'm with him._

_Stubborn, _she sighed. _That__ will never change. I don't believe you, but even if I had the time to push you for an answer, it would only tick you off. _"Fine," she allowed. "Then let's get started."

Dick woke with only mild protests, the medicine in his system quelling his symptoms enough to let him function fairly normally. Leslie wanted to do a full exam, and once the boy understood that she would be forwarding her notes on to CPS as another brick in Bruce's line of defense he agreed to it. Despite having given his consent, however, it was patently clear to both adults that he was uncomfortable through the entire process.

"…What's up, kiddo?" Bruce asked when the physician stepped out for a second.

"…I just don't like doctors. Leslie's okay," he added quickly, "I like _her_, but…I don't like going to doctors." Every time he'd been taken in for medical treatment before now it had been because he was sick, and without fail he had been prescribed something expensive to take. As if the pinched looks on his parents' faces when they considered the damage that the exam and then the medicine did to their already tight budget wasn't enough, most of the time it seemed like the stuff he had to ingest didn't make him feel much better than if they'd just waited and let it run its course. _They were always so sad when I got sick,_ he sniffled covertly, gazing down at the worn linoleum. _That was the worst part of not feeling good, was the way it made them sad._

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of doctors, either," the man patted his knee. _I don't know exactly what you just thought about, kiddo –although I can certainly guess - but it obviously made you upset. I know I've only seen it a few times, but I really hate the look you get when you're about to cry. So please don't. _"But like you said, Leslie's okay. Speaking of doctors," he tried to distract him, "did they send you to any at the Center? I'm sorry to bring that place up," he apologized when the child flinched, "but it's important that I know."

"…They did all this same stuff that we're doing today," he shrugged. "Except the head x-ray, they didn't do that. And then…the next day they had a different guy come in. A…a psychologist," he spoke the word carefully and correctly. "And he had a bunch of really _weird_ tests. Then he wanted to talk about…you know, them…and he got angry when I didn't want to."

"Angry?" Bruce frowned.

"Yeah. He wasn't mean or anything, he just…I guess he really wanted to talk about it, that's all."

_And you didn't, for the obvious reasons. _"Did they have you do school tests? Reading, writing, stuff like that?" _If so, maybe I can get the results from the counselor,_ he thought. _That would save us a lot of time._

"Yup. Those were easy, though."

"Were they?" A twitch of amused delight jerked one side of his mouth up.

"Yeah. I think I might have freaked out the lady who gave me those ones, though."

"Why's that?" he asked as Leslie came back in. To her credit, she didn't interrupt them when she realized that they were deep in conversation, instead making herself appear busy at the counter.

"Well…I don't think she expected me to finish the math test all the way, and with extra time. But I couldn't help it," he pled. "The hardest thing on there was multiplying decimals, and that stuff's easy." His face grew cautiously curious as he witnessed the smirk spreading across the billionaire's face. "…What?"

"Nothing, kiddo. I'm just glad you like math, that's all." _Multiplying decimals is easy, huh? I wonder what you consider __hard__…they might have given you a test, but I think we're going to have to give you one that goes further._

A minute later they proceeded to the x-ray lab, where Dick hesitated at the door. "Umm…"

Bruce crouched beside him. "Never had an x-ray before?"

"Huh-uh," he shook his head, taking in the machinery. "…How does this stuff _work_?"

"That," the billionaire pointed to one portion of the machine, "sends a burst of a special type of radiation – x-rays – towards that panel," he indicated the other end of the process. "The radiation goes through whatever's in between the two ends and takes a picture of it. The reason it can see bones is that they have a lot of calcium in them, and calcium absorbs x-rays. So what you're really looking at when you're looking at an x-ray picture is the _shadow_ of the bones, from where the x-ray radiation couldn't get through them."

The boy turned wide, excited eyes on him. "The _shadows _of my bones? That is so cool," he whispered. "But…isn't radiation bad? I mean, I know people get x-rays all the time, but…"

"If you get too much radiation it can be bad, sure, especially depending on what kind of radiation it is. But x-rays aren't dangerous unless you get exposed to a _lot_ of them. So this is perfectly safe. Okay?"

He shot him a hopeful glance. "…Can I see the picture? Of inside my head?"

"I don't see why not. Leslie?"

"Sure," she agreed, watching them. _…My god, Bruce, you might actually be pretty good at this. It doesn't hurt anything that he's clearly intelligent, but…how did you know exactly how far to simplify your explanation? Most of the kids who come in here for their first x-rays just get told it's magic. Obviously __you__ wouldn't use that as a serious answer, but I'm still impressed by how well you covered that._ "You think you're ready now?"

"Yup," the child nodded, going straight over and standing in front of the board. "…Is this not where I should be?" he queried when both adults stared at him. "I thought…don't the x-rays come out of there and hit here? So I should be in between them, right?" he frowned.

"No, you're right," the physician assured, finally coming forward to make her adjustments. _I just didn't expect you to have really absorbed that fact from what Bruce told you, let alone to be perfectly comfortable with having radiation shot at you just based on his saying it's okay._ _You really do trust him, don't you?_ "…Join me behind the wall," she gestured to the man still waiting to one side. "Dick, don't move."

The first try was a bust for the simple and unavoidable reason that the patient had to sneeze right in the middle of it. "Sorry," he blushed. "I didn't have any warning."

"It's okay. We'll just try again," Leslie tried not to laugh at his obvious contrition. "Move a little to your left. Perfect!" Just as the x-ray beam finished, he sneezed a second time.

"…I wrecked it again, didn't I?" he asked, now beginning to look a little upset.

"I think we got it," she gave him a thumbs-up through the window.

"Oh, good." Bruce came back out, something new gleaming in his eyes that Dick couldn't quite figure out. _I guess I didn't mess it up too bad; he doesn't look angry. _"…Can I see it? Please?"

"It takes a few minutes to come up," the billionaire explained. "Let's go back to the other room and wait."

"Okay," the boy yawned. "…Oops," he smacked a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

"Still kind of tired, huh?"

"I guess so. Do you think it's because I'm sick?"

"Probably," he confirmed, leading him back to the exam room. _At least your fever's down today,_ he thought gratefully. Alfred had taken his temperature first thing that morning and reported it to be slightly more than a degree over where it should have been. "We'll get you some more medicine when we get home, and you can take a nap if you want."

"Do…" He trailed off, biting his lip as he hopped back up onto the table. _I don't want to be needy, but…_ "Do I have to nap by…by myself?"

Bruce was torn. He completely understood the boy's aversion to sleeping alone and thus making the nightmares sure to come, but at the same time he himself was so well-rested compared to normal that he almost felt super-charged. _And I have a lot of paperwork to do, too,_ he knew. _Work files, adoption forms…that's not even counting everything I'm behind on downstairs. _"I'll tell you what, kiddo," he proffered. "You try and nap by yourself. I'll show you where I'm going to be, and how to get there from your room, and that way if you have a bad dream you know where to come to get me. Is that okay?" _I'll catch up downstairs tonight. Hopefully he can get through a couple of hours without bad memories…_

_He's not going to want to lay down every time I do,_ Dick told himself. _And at least I'll have Elinor._ He hadn't questioned it when he'd woken up the night before with the elephant tucked under his arm, too distracted and distraught to be anything but gratified by the sudden appearance of the toy. _…She wasn't enough to save me from the dreams, though,_ he gulped. _Only you were._ _But…you probably have other things to do. _"…Okay," he agreed slowly.

He could tell the child was less than ecstatic, but there were no tears. _Good thing, too, because I kind of doubt that I'd be able to keep from giving in if he started crying about not wanting nightmares. _"I'll bet Alfred will have lunch ready when you wake up," he said, trying to give him something else to think about.

"…Will it be as good as breakfast? Because breakfast was _really_ good." For all that he'd been half-asleep and coughing when Bruce carried him down to the table, that morning was the first time since Sunday that he'd woken up with an appetite, and he had cleaned his plate completely of the eggs, toast and fruit he was given.

"I have yet to be served a _bad_ meal by Alfred," the man informed him now. "It will be good, guaranteed." Both his and the butler's relief had been palpable earlier when they hadn't had to encourage Dick to eat. _He's got to get a couple pounds back on,_ he thought now. _Leslie didn't say as much, but I know he was underweight._

"Okay," the physician's voice broke in as she entered the room and went straight to the lightbox on the wall. "Are you ready to see the inside of your head?" she asked the boy, who had straightened up.

"Yes," he nodded.

"…Well, there you go," she flipped the switch.

_Bone shadows,_ he mused as he examined the film. "That's _really_ cool looking," he said reverently. His hand rose to touch his face, trying to match what he was seeing with what he could feel. "Ouch," he pulled back suddenly when his fingers brushed the swollen tissue under his left eye.

"Okay?" Bruce asked instantly.

"Yeah. I just poked myself, that's all."

"You're okay internally, too," Leslie informed them. "No fractures, no chipping, and no reason for me to think there was damage to your eye. You've just got a lot of nasty bruising, that's all."

Something that the billionaire hadn't realized was clenched relaxed as he heard those words. _Good. If that little fucker had caused long-term damage…_

"…Does that mean we're all done?" Dick asked.

"I think so," she answered. "I'll get everything typed up and sent off to your social worker. But," she tacked on as the boy jumped to the floor, "you need to tell Bruce or Alfred if your eye starts bothering you, okay? And stay in bed until you get over your cold."

"I will," he nodded. "Thank you."

"…Thanks, Leslie," the billionaire added sincerely.

Her eyes flew to him. _A heartfelt 'thank you'? From you? And last night you actually asked for my help. What is it about this boy that's gotten to you?_ "…Any time," she replied slowly. "And Bruce?"

He turned back from the door. "Yeah?"

"You're right." _There's something there. I don't know what, but something. _Her gaze slid to the boy, who was watching them. "I think I get it now."

"Good," he said brusquely. _Because he's not going anywhere. _"We'll see you later, Leslie."

_'We'll' see you,_ she sighed as they disappeared into the hallway. _Even now that I agree with you completely, you've just got to rub it in a little, don't you? Stubborn, stubborn man…_

**Author's Note: I just wanted to say thank you to all of you lovely readers who have been sticking so diligently to this story! Double thanks to those who have taken a moment to review. Happy reading!**


	20. Chapter 20

"…Bruce, your house is _huge_!"

The exclamation from the backseat startled the man slightly as he drove around the last curve in the driveway. The manor sprawled out along the top of its low rise, a symbol of three and a half centuries of familial wealth towering magnificently over the wet brown lawns. The billionaire's guests frequently commented on its grandeur – particularly the women, who he always imagined did so while daydreaming that they might someday be mistress of it – but Dick's completely awed exhalation was the first one he'd heard in years that seemed wholly honest.

"…Thanks, kiddo," he glanced at him in the rearview, almost smiling when he saw that the boy's jaw was on the verge of coming unhinged. "I didn't realize you'd woken up." His passenger had fallen asleep almost as soon as the car had started outside Leslie's clinic, his head lolling as they climbed the serpentine roads into the hills. _No nightmares, though,_ Bruce thought, pleased. _I hope that's a good sign._

"I just did, when we hit that bump a minute ago."

"Yeah, we'll have to let Alfred know. That pothole comes back every third year or so."

"…You've lived here, like, forever, haven't you?" he cocked his head to the side.

"My whole life," he answered quietly. _Except when I was traveling, but that's not something you need to know about right now._

"…What's it like?"

"What's what like?"

"Waking up and going outside to the same thing every morning. What's that like?"

Bruce frowned. "You've never done that?" _I know Haly's is a traveling circus, but surely you've camped in the same place for a little while._

"Huh-uh. We go south in the winter, and around Christmas we stay for like three weeks straight in this farmer's fields – he knows Pop from when they were kids, so he doesn't mind – but it's not like we live there all the time. We usually go down and camp on the beach for a couple of days in the middle."

…_He said all of that in present tense,_ the billionaire's heart sank. _Damn it. That could be regression. _"…Well," he answered slowly, "it's nice, in a way. There's a routine to it. And everything changes with the seasons, so it doesn't get boring like you might think it would. You'll see. It will look different once the leaves come in."

Dick's eyes widened slightly as he was reminded that this wasn't just another stop on the circus circuit. _Oh. Right. I guess…his house just looks a lot like the fancy old places that mom liked to take me to look at. I must have sort of just mixed it up with those…_ "Sure," he nodded finally. "I guess it was a silly question."

"It wasn't silly. Don't ever think of a legitimate question as being silly, Dick," Bruce told him seriously. "Asking questions is a way to learn, and I'll never fault you for trying to do that. Okay?"

"…Okay," he tried to smile. _I'm going to be here every day, all year round, from now on,_ he pondered. _Even if he changes his mind and sends me back to the Center, _he shuddered, _no more Christmases by the ocean, no more oranges right off of the tree, and no more driving through all the tiny towns between shows. Just…Gotham, all the time._ He swallowed hard, his eyes pricking with tears. _How can anyone live a whole lifetime in a single city? _An urge, a _need_, to travel was part of what had made his mother run away from college to join the circus, he remembered her telling him once. _That and dad. How can I stay in one place for so long, if neither of them could stand to?_

"Are you still tired?" the billionaire asked as he parked in front of the house. "Or do you want to see some of the inside _other_ than your bedroom and the dining room?"

"Won't it take forever to see everything?"

"It would if we were going to look at _everything_. But I think we'll just look at the most important places for you to know. Is that all right?"

"Sure," he nodded politely. _…I don't know, Bruce, this place is…it's really big. It's kind of scary._ Now that the drowsiness from his cold medicine had worn off and he'd managed to get some sleep, he was able to pay enough attention as they walked in to really get a sense of just _how_ rich his new protector was. _…It really __is__ like the palaces in Europe,_ he stared up at the chandelier in the grand foyer. _How do people actually __live__ in houses like this? Everything's too nice…_

"Ah, there you are, sirs. I was just beginning to wonder," Alfred entered. "Feeling a bit better after a little fresh air, Master Dick?" he inquired as he took Bruce's coat.

"Yes," he agreed. The single word was followed immediately by a cough. "…Sorry."

"It sounds as if you need a fresh dose of cold medicine," the butler opined.

"Let's wait on that, Alfred," Bruce interjected. "We're going to take a little tour first." _I'd kind of like him to be awake for it,_ he didn't add. "…Unless that was something you wanted to do?"

"I daresay you're qualified to show off your own house, Master Wayne." Turning to Dick, he raised an eyebrow. "Are you chilled, young sir?" he asked, noting that he hadn't made a move to take off his jacket.

"Huh?" He tore his eyes up from the floor. _Marble? Even if it isn't, whatever I'm standing on looks expensive, and there's a __lot__ of it. _"…Oh. No. Sorry," he apologized again, quickly unzipping his jacket and handing it over.

"Shoes, too, please." While the boy was distracted momentarily with untying his shoes, Alfred moved to his elder charge. "Take it slow with him," he advised quietly. "This is the first time he's seemed truly clear-headed since he's been in the house, and I fear the more public areas may seem overwhelmingly luxurious, especially if it's begun to sink in that he'll be living here."

"…Right," Bruce's lips tightened after a second of thought. _I didn't even take that into account. Of course he's not used to things like this; I saw where he lived, and it sure as hell didn't have marble floors and twenty foot ceilings._ He paused. _…It had something else, though. Something this place hasn't had in a very long time. I'm just not sure what…_ "Ready, kiddo?" he asked as the child straightened and stepped out of his sneakers.

"Sure," he agreed.

Mindful of what Alfred had said and not seeing much point to introducing Dick to the areas of the house that he was unlikely to go into in the immediate future, Bruce tried to make their exploration of the downstairs fast. "So you come down this hallway, and you've got the dining room first," he flipped on the light.

"…Where we had breakfast, right?" _…Oh, yeah. I think I should just not touch anything in this place. It all looks really breakable. _

"Right. Across the way is the kitchen," he guided him through the door. "Which is where you can generally find Alfred."

"When I'm not attending to tasks elsewhere, it is indeed where I'm most likely to be," the butler, who had come in just before them, agreed. "Before you go upstairs, Master Wayne," he requested, "do swing back by the kitchen. I think it may be about time for a late-morning snack, if either of you are interested. I assume, Master Dick, that you aren't averse to chocolate chip cookies?"

"…I like those," he nodded, looking around. _You could fit two of the trailer in here, easy. Why is everything so __big__?_

"I thought you might." The phone rang, diverting his attention. "Excuse me for a moment."

They went back out into the corridor and turned. "Here's the living room," another lavish room, all Italian leather and gilt ceilings, went on display. Dick gulped. _Never, ever even going __in__ there,_ he determined as he spied antique rugs that looked as if they were unaccustomed to the touch of feet. _I'm normally pretty careful inside, but…I just know I'd break something in there, and I don't even think the money Pop gave me would be enough to cover it if I did. You don't…you don't actually sit in there, do you? I mean…how?_

"Now," Bruce turned to him, "if you keep going down the hall, you pass a few other rooms – there's a ballroom down there, and a couple of other spots that we really don't use more than a few times a year – and then there's a door to outside. I tell you that," he tried to build up the excitement, "because you're probably going to get pretty familiar with it this summer. Unless, of course, you don't like pools."

"…You have your own pool?" he whispered. _I guess I really shouldn't be surprised, given the way the rest of your house looks._

"Ahh…well, two technically," the billionaire admitted. "The other one's inside, so it can be used in the winter. You can use that one, too, until it's warm enough for the other one. The patio's just nice in summer." Looking down, he found the boy's head bowed. "…Dick?" _Shit. Alfred was right. This is too much, too fast. And he's still sick. I should have waited, I just…I just wanted to share it with him. I didn't think a few rooms would be too much. One of them was the __kitchen__, how is that overwhelming?_ He considered for a moment. _Except the kitchen he's used to was barely wider than the stove in ours. And he knows it's just Alfred and I…this probably all looks overblown to him. But I don't know how I could have started out any slower; these are the rooms we actually use, he needs to know them. _

…_I have a hole in my sock,_ the child thought morosely. Suffering from economic culture shock, he'd averted his eyes while Bruce was talking only to discover the disrepair of his garment. _I didn't notice it when I got dressed this morning. Crud._ He'd never been embarrassed by such a thing before, but the emotion blossomed in his stomach as he wriggled his toes against the cool floor in an attempt to hide the damage. _You're super nice, Bruce, but…maybe you'd be better off with a kid who knows how to act around all this nice stuff you have. I don't want you to send me back, but…I'm really lost right now._ It hadn't been so bad upstairs in what he'd been told was 'his' room – it was daunting to think of more square footage than his entire family had lived in being dedicated solely to him, but it wasn't unbearable if he didn't think about it too hard – but this was all too much.

"…Here, let's take a break for a minute," Bruce suggested, moving into the living room. He paused when the boy didn't follow. "…Dick?"

"Could…could we _not_ do it in…in there?" he asked, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

_Yeah, that's it, genius,_ he berated himself. _He's having trouble with all the…what did Alfred call it, 'overwhelming luxury'?...so let's drag him into the room with the gold-plated ceilings and Ming vases and try to get him to relax. I'm sure that won't send him into a panic attack at all._ "…Okay, let's try over here," he opted, leading him a short way down the hall to the den. "I was going to show you this next, anyway."

Carpet appeared when Bruce opened the door, and that was enough to get Dick to look up. His distress bled away a little as he took in an overstuffed sofa and recliner, the former with a blanket folded neatly over the back of it. The ceiling was lower here, the walls painted a calming green. Everything was still clearly of high quality, but it felt warmer, more used, than anywhere else he'd yet been in the manor. _…I think people might actually live in this room,_ he sighed in relief. "…This is better," he nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

"You bet. You want to sit down?"

"Umm…sure. We could do that." He let the billionaire go ahead and watched as he settled on one end of the couch. Debating with himself for a moment, he finally climbed up next to him, kneeling on the center cushion so that his feet were hidden from sight. _There. Now I don't have to worry about anyone seeing the hole._ "…I'm sorry I got…you know...kind of scared, I guess."

"It's okay. To be fair, I should have known better. A lot's changed for you in the past week, after all. The last thing you needed was something else new to get used to."

"Yeah…" _A week. Today's…today's... _His eyes widened. "…Bruce?" he spoke shakily.

"What is it?"

"…It's Saturday." _They've been…dead…for a week today._

The boy's lower lip trembled, and was then pulled back between his teeth. _Oh, kiddo. I didn't mean to remind you of that. _"…Yeah," he breathed back. "I know."

Dick shifted an inch closer, then paused, his need shining under the tears in his eyes. "…Bruce?"

He didn't have to ask twice. The billionaire gestured him forward, wrapping one arm around his back once he'd curled up against him. "Okay," he soothed. "I know. It's okay."

"It's not," he shook his head. "I'm fine, and then it just _hits_ me, and it hurts all over again…and it's _not_ okay…"

The billionaire closed his eyes. "…No. It's not okay. You're right." _And I've barely done shit to get my hands on the people who did this to you,_ he grimaced. _That changes tonight._ He could do nothing but listen miserably as the child cried against his shoulder. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…damn it, this is what Batman is supposed to keep from happening. I know it isn't feasible to stop all crime before it occurs, but…you didn't deserve any of the bad things that have happened to you in the last seven days. I just want you to know that you have a safe home here…_

"Dick…" he started slowly when it seemed like the bulk of his tears had passed. "You need to know something." He pushed him back enough to look at him. "This is your home, too, now. I know it's going to take you some time to get used to that idea, and that's okay," he stressed, "but I don't want you to feel like an outsider, or like you don't belong here. Okay?"

"But…everything's so nice," he swiped at his eyes, wincing when he wiped his bruises dry. "And…and I'm just a circus kid, Bruce. I don't know how to act around all this stuff. I mean, I've been in really neat places like your house before – it's like the palaces that…that mom used to take me to, when I was little and we were still in Europe – but I never _lived_ in those places, you know? It's a scary thought."

"Sure," he nodded. _Europe? Wow, kiddo, you've got some miles under your belt, don't you? You might not have the attitude of a spoiled rich kid, but it sounds like you've got the passport of one._ "But this isn't like those places. If you accidentally break something here, I'm not going to throw you out. Neither is Alfred. We might make you help clean it up, but it wouldn't be the end of the world." _There are a couple of the uglier things that I'd be kind of __happy__ to see broken, actually._

"…I'm still really nervous," the boy confessed.

"Well, I'll bet it gets better the longer you're here. Start with this room, if that helps. You can kind of work your way up to being comfortable in the other places. Although you're going to have to eat in the dining room fairly often; Alfred's got a thing about proper mealtimes whenever possible." _And I'm sure it will only get worse now that he no doubt feels he has to foster a family atmosphere. _"You might not think upstairs is too bad, either, when we get up there. Do you like your room?"

"…It's really big."

"Yeah? You'll have more stuff to fill it with soon, though."

"You don't have to buy me things, Bruce. I have enough. Well," he amended, thinking about his feet. "…I could use another pair of socks, I guess. I only brought a couple with me." _And one already has a hole in it,_ he didn't add, still a little ashamed despite having been reminded that the man currently rubbing his back in slow circles wasn't stuck up about his wealth.

_Maybe I __want__ to buy you things, damn it,_ the billionaire almost frowned. Realizing that the expression might send the wrong message, he bit it back. "Socks? I think we can manage that." _Note to self; let Alfred know not to go too crazy when he takes him clothes shopping. We'll just get him a few things to start with, and go from there. _"So," he continued, "now that I've shown you some of the house, I was wondering if you'd reciprocate."

"…Huh?" _I can't show you the trailer, it's gone. Besides, you could see everything from the door. It wouldn't be much of a tour._

"Tell me about your elephant," he clarified.

"Oh! Elinor," he answered fondly, relaxing further thanks to the easy pattern being drawn on his back and the introduction of a familiar topic. "That's her name. Pop gave her to me right after I was born. I've had her forever."

"You like elephants, huh?" _I might as well verify what I already suspect,_ he thought. _Besides, if he calms down a little more I might be able to get him to fall asleep…_

"They're my favorite animal. I used to ride them in the show, before I was old enough to do the trapeze act. That was fun…" The figure beside him was warm and solid, and thinking about elephants…thinking about elephants always made things brighter. His lips curved upwards slightly as his illness and the emotional stress of the past half hour caught up with him and made his eyelids droop. "I wish you could have ridden an elephant, too, Bruce," he murmured. "Wish you could ride elephants all the time…"

"Why's that?" the billionaire asked quizzically.

"Because no one can ride an elephant without smiling…"

He was still staring down at the now sleeping child when Alfred entered a few minutes later. "…Master Wayne?" The butler came closer to peek over the back of the couch. "I see the young master's next dose of cold medicine will have to wait until he's finished with his nap," he observed. _I thought that might be the end result when you brought him in here. He seemed more likely to take this this room than to any of the others._

"Did you know that no one can ride an elephant without smiling?" Bruce asked him quietly, eyes remaining locked on the boy whose position had him all but pinned into the corner of the couch.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"That's what I was just informed of. Apparently," he finally looked up, "he thinks I should ride elephants all the time."

"…I daresay he'll find other ways of making you smile more frequently."

"He already has." _When he doesn't have me on the verge of tears, that is._

"My point exactly, sir. Now," he carried on into business, "I imagine you had intended to get some of your paperwork done this afternoon. Trying to move him right now will only wake him," - _and I know you don't want that; you look rather comfortable yourself, after all – _"so I've brought you a clipboard." He handed it over, a sheaf of documents already attached. "Here is your pen. I've also brought you a camera."

"…Why?"

"For documenting Master Dick's bruises, naturally."

"Oh, shit," he muttered. "I spaced it completely." _There's been so much going on with him…_ "Thanks, Alfred, I'll take that and get them as soon as he wakes up." Setting it aside, he prepared to turn to his work with a sigh. He hated trying to shuffle stacks of paper without a large surface to spread out on, but as he glanced at what he'd been brought he had to chuckle. "…You know you brought me the CPS paperwork, right?" he observed the Englishman from the corner of his eye.

"I'm aware of that, yes. Is that a problem?" _It had better not be. Not after last night. You haven't worn such a content look since you were an infant, and I'll be damned if I let the reason behind that emotion's sudden reappearance leave this house. _

"…No," he shook his head. "Just still trying to figure out how you know everything."

"Ah…I suppose it's simply habit by now, sir." Unfolding the blanket that had been laying on the back of the sofa, he covered the boy with it. "…I'll fetch you both for lunch in a little while."

"Right around the time I finish this stack of adoption forms?" Bruce asked, arching an eyebrow.

"…They aren't entirely yours, Master Wayne_._ Mine are at the bottom of the pile. I completed them last night."

"Did you really?" he smirked. "Imagine that."

"Yes, well…" the butler trailed off with a tiny smile. "They're rather repetitive questions, I found, but…worth the reward."

"Warning taken." He glanced back down at the tousled head digging into his side. "…Thanks, Alfred."

Reaching down, he squeezed his shoulder momentarily. "Of course, sir."


	21. Chapter 21

As Bruce had predicted would be the case, Alfred came back into the den to announce lunch just as he was affixing his final signature to the adoption application. "…May I offer a piece of advice, sir?" the butler asked as the billionaire prepared to wake the boy.

"What is it?" he asked, pausing.

"Don't tell Master Dick about this," he shook the clipboard he'd taken back, "until it's official. He has quite enough to process already, and if there are delays it will only disappoint him."

"…Yeah," Bruce nodded. "You, ah…you have a point there." _Besides_, _I don't want to scare him away, and if he thinks I'm trying to take his parents' place I may do exactly that. He's been frightened enough for one week, I think._ "…Anything else?"

"Nothing that can't be said in his hearing, other than that I'll drop these forms off at CPS on Monday."

"…I don't know if he should go there with you, Alfred. I really hate to drag him back into the lion's den like that." _It's not the Center, but they may have taken him into the office briefly. Even if they didn't, what if the Randall woman is hanging around? She's the last person he needs to see right now._

"I suppose I could drop him off for a short visit with you at your office, if you've time to watch him. It shouldn't be for more than an hour."

"That…should work," Bruce nodded hesitantly. "My lunch hour's open, I think; if you can bring him by around twelve, I'll order something in." _Maybe that will help him feel less overwhelmed, if we just stay in my office with the door shut. He'll probably love the view, if nothing else._

"Very good, sir."

Dick gave a mewling little yawn, stretched, and opened his eyes just then to find both men watching him. "…Hi," he whispered, a little color rising into his cheeks as his gaze shifted from one to the other.

"Hey, kiddo. Are you hungry?" the billionaire asked.

"Yes," he nodded. He looked back at Alfred. "…Bruce says you've never made a bad meal. Is that true?"

"I think _never_ might be a bit of an exaggeration, Master Dick – I've certainly had my fair share of mistimed entrees and fallen soufflés – but if I do say so myself I have some skill in the kitchen. Hopefully you'll agree after you try the chicken noodle soup I have waiting for you."

"Are…" he trailed off for a moment. _Is it rude of me to ask about grilled cheese? I don't want to be rude. But I __do__ really want grilled cheese._ "Are we having grilled cheese with it? It's…it's okay if we're not," he said quickly. "I'm just curious."

"I'd be ashamed to serve you chicken noodle soup without grilled cheese, young sir," the butler replied with mock gravity.

A tiny smile flitted across the child's face. "Oh, good. I like grilled cheese."

"We need to take pictures of your eye before we eat," Bruce informed him. "So we can send them to CPS for your file."

"…So they don't try and blame it on you?"

"Right. So they don't try and blame it on me or Alfred."

"I'd tell anyone who asked who really did it," Dick offered. "Like, a judge, or whoever."

"…Thanks, kiddo. I appreciate that," he said quietly, patting his elbow. "But we still need to take the pictures, okay? The more evidence we have on file, the better."

"Okay," he agreed. _If it will help you, I don't mind._

The photography session went quickly. Sensing that the boy's comfort upon waking had been tied to physical contact, Bruce picked him up before they entered the hallway. _Maybe this will help him adjust to the rest of the house. The dining room shouldn't be as bad as the living room was for him,_ he decided. _He's already eaten in there once, after all._ He carefully chose the same chair that the child had occupied that morning at breakfast and set him down in it. "…Is this okay?" he asked, staying bent over.

Dick glanced around a little uncertainly. _…I was in here earlier, and I didn't break anything. So long as I'm careful, it should be okay._ "Are you going to sit across from me again?" he asked. _Where I can see you?_

"You bet. That's where I normally sit." Shortly after he'd been left parentless, Alfred had tried to get him to shift over into the head chair, but he'd wanted nothing to do with it. He'd refused to eat if he was so much as asked to occupy what he still thought of as his father's seat, and eventually the butler had given up, conceding that his charge's physical wellbeing was more important than a minor detail of domestic tradition. Bruce had defended that victory – one of only a few he could truly claim over the Englishman – ever since, retaining his childhood place at the table in all instances short of formal dinner parties.

"…Okay," the boy nodded bravely. A hand brushed his hair for just an instant, and then the man had gone, moving around the table and seating himself right as Alfred appeared bearing two bowls. "…This smells so good," he complimented as one was set in front of him.

"Thank you, Master Dick. I'll return in just a moment with your sandwiches." He wrestled down his eyebrow as the boy picked up his spoon and took a bite. "Napkin on your lap, if you please, young sir," he corrected gently before leaving to fetch the rest of the meal.

Blushing, he did as he'd been told. "…I didn't know I was supposed to do that," he said in a low voice.

"It's okay," Bruce told him. "I still forget half the time. But don't tell _him_ that. Keep it a secret."

"…Won't he know anyway, though?"

The billionaire nearly snorted soup. _If you were any quicker, kiddo, I'd think I needed to compare your DNA to Flash's. _"You didn't waste any time figuring him out, did you?" he smirked.

"Well…you said he takes care of the house, and the people in it, right?"

"Right. He does." _Where is this going?_

"And…it's a really, _really_ big house. And you're…you know…I mean, you must do a lot of things. At least, it always sounded to me like rich people either do a lot of different stuff, or they don't do anything, and I don't think you're the kind who doesn't do anything. So that means Alfred's really, really busy all the time, if he's keeping up with the house and you. And when you're as busy as he must be, I guess figure the best way to not forget something is to kind of just know what's going on all the time." He shrugged. "I dunno. It was just something I was thinking about."

Bruce gaped, his spoon frozen an inch above the rim of his bowl. _You've spent twenty four hours here, most of them asleep and the rest uncertain and frightened, but you've already deduced one of the cruxes of Alfred's character,_ he marveled. _No wonder that CPS wench doesn't like you; you probably scared her out of her socks. Now I __really__ want to see those academic test results. _

"…Did I freak you out?" Dick asked in a small voice. "I wasn't trying to. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," he shook his head. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just…impressed," he admitted.

"Why?" he frowned slightly.

"What you just said isn't something most people would think about."

"…Should I not think about things like that? I…I don't want to offend anybody."

"You're not offending anyone. And _don't_ stop thinking about things like that. It's a good skill to have." _I shouldn't be surprised, given what you said this morning about the math test you took. Deduction and math skills often go hand in hand. Still, though…wow._

When Alfred reappeared, now bearing a plate of sandwiches, he caught the conspiratorial look that was sent from his elder charge to his younger. _Secret-sharing already? Excellent._ "Thank you for placing your napkin properly, Master Dick," he said, setting down the tray. "Now, would you prefer cheddar, swiss, or pepperjack cheese on your sandwich? I've made all three."

"…You can make them with more than one kind?" he whispered, a trace of disbelief in his voice. _…I never thought about that before. Mom always used the same kind of cheese…_ A momentary memory of her, standing over the narrow two-burner stove on a rainy day and flipping a sandwich as her husband leaned around her to snatch his work gloves off the bed, blinked across the back of his eyes. The pair exchanged a happy smile, a loving kiss, and then vanished.

"Indeed you can, young sir," the butler, unaware of his thoughts, nearly grinned at the boy's delight.

After a moment of turmoil from the vision, Dick's curiosity as to what other kinds of cheese would taste like on a sandwich came back to the fore. "Um…could I try all of them?" he requested slowly. "Only I don't know if I can eat that much…"

"I could cut a third from each kind, if you like. Then you can sample all three without overloading yourself."

He tore his eyes away from the stack of perfectly toasted bread and turned them to the man leaning over him. "…You'd do that?"

"Certainly. I could even be convinced to cut the crusts off, if that's how you're used to having your sandwiches."

"I usually eat the crusts, but…it would be easier if I didn't have to tear them off before I dipped them in the soup." He thought for a moment. "Could you cut them off, but leave them on the plate? Like off to the side?"

"Of course. I'm glad to hear that you like the crust; it's the best part of the bread for you, you know." Regaining his full height and moving to take three sandwiches back to the kitchen for further preparation, Alfred found Bruce staring at him. "…Did you need something, Master Wayne?"

"…Well, if you're already cutting crusts off…you could just do all of them," he suggested.

_You can't be serious. At your age, you want me to remove the edges from your sandwiches? Good lord…_ He shook his head wearily and picked up the entire plate he'd just brought in. "Very well, sirs. I'll return shortly."

When he was gone, a little giggle came from Dick's side of the table. "What're you laughing at?" Bruce's lip twitched at the sound.

"He didn't look very happy with you."

"He probably wasn't. But I don't like crusts on my sandwiches."

"…Can I have your crusts, then?"

"You actually _like_ that part?" he peered at him.

"Yeah. I like how chewy the bread is."

"…Okay," he conceded. "Go for it, then." _Keeps me from having to eat them._

They ate more or less in silence once the grilled cheese came back. "What's the verdict?" Bruce inquired, sitting back in his chair and setting his napkin on the table when he was finished.

The boy wrinkled his nose. "I can't decide which one I like best. They're all good."

"…Do you think you might like to see a couple more rooms while you think about it? They won't be like the living room," he promised as Dick's face grew wary. "It's just my study and my bedroom. I'd like you to know where you can normally find me when I'm home."

"…Oh." _That __is__ important, in case I need you to make the nightmares go away._ "I can try," he offered bravely.

"Good," he nodded, pleased. "…All done?"

"Yes," he nodded, hopping down off of his chair. "Where should we put our dishes?"

"Just leave them. Alfred will get them."

"…Oh. Okay." Once he stepped off of the rug that ran beneath the table, the coolness of the marble soaked into his feet. _Brr…the hole!_ Glancing down, he found it plainly visible, the end of one toe sticking out. He quickly squinched his foot up, trying to tuck it back out of sight before Bruce could spot it.

"…I hate it when that happens."

He looked up. "When what happens?" he asked, swallowing hard and hoping the man hadn't noticed his struggle. _Please don't have seen. Please. I don't normally go around with holes in my socks, I just didn't know…_

"When I have a sock blow out like that."

Dick bit his lip. "…You're not mad about it?"

Bruce frowned. "Why would I be mad that you have a hole in your sock? Everyone gets those."

"Yeah, but…" _But you probably have like eighty million pairs to replace yours with. I think I only have, like, one. And I don't want you to feel like you have to spend your money on me right off…maybe I can buy some more with the money Pop gave me._

The billionaire knelt in front of the boy. "…Is this another 'you're rich and I'm a circus kid' moments?" he asked frankly. _We've got to get you past this, or you're never going to relax._

"Um…yes," he ducked his head, eyes growing hot.

"Hey," Bruce tilted his chin back up. "Dick, I-" he paused, glancing around to be sure they were alone before he continued. "-I don't give a damn about that. Or about a hole in your sock. Remember what I said at your parents'…on Thursday?" he corrected himself just in time. "I don't care how much money someone has, kiddo. That doesn't make them a good or a bad person. The only thing that bothers me about you having a hole in your sock is whether or not it's making your feet cold, because you're still getting over being sick. Understand?"

"Yes," he answered, throwing himself forward and wrapping his arms around the man's neck. _I don't know why he thinks he isn't a warm person,_ he puzzled as arms squeezed him tight for a moment. _Because he's awfully nice to me. _"Thank you," he whispered.

"…It's nothing, kiddo. Just the truth. Now," he pushed him back a step. "Ready to go see a couple more places?"

"Sure," he nodded. "I'll try not to get scared this time."

"You think it might be a little easier after our talk just now?" _Please say yes, I don't know what else to do or say to make you believe that money is nothing but a tool to me._

"I…I think so." He _did_ feel better now that Bruce had made it clear that his lack of wealth wasn't something he would be judged by. _I think part of me already knew that, but…then I saw the way he lives. How did he grow up in such a fancy place? I still don't really get that…_

Glancing down at the child as they approached the hallway, the billionaire realized that he was likely to step on him with as close as he was sticking. "Here," he stuck out his hand. _…I have no idea where that urge came from,_ he frowned internally as thin fingers inserted themselves into his palm. _But I'm okay with it. _The back of his mind stayed uncharacteristically quiet, something for which he was grateful when they stepped into the wide foyer and the boy's steps quickened. _Okay, so the entryway bugs him. I guess that's understandable; I've always wondered what would happen to that chandelier if we had an earthquake…_ Thinking about it now, he shivered and livened his own pace.

"Okay," he pushed open a door a short distance down another hall from the vestibule. "This is my study."

"…Wow," Dick commented, taking a few steps inside and turning around. "You have a lot of books." The desk was covered in paperwork; the low couch in front of the fireplace looked like it had had had many night passed on it. _He must spend a lot of time in here,_ he thought.

"This is nothing. Wait until you see the library." _…Oh, brilliant, Bruce, remind him that there are more things he hasn't seen in your already mind-boggling house._

The boy didn't seem fazed this time, though. "Wait…you have your own library?" he asked, coming close again. "Like…with more books than this?"

"Tons more books than this," Bruce nodded, taking a chance on the interest in his expression. "I go in there a lot, too, when I need a break. Do you want to see it? It's just across the hall."

"Yes, please!"

_I thought you'd turn out to be a reader, but I didn't think you'd be this into a library,_ the billionaire thought a minute later as he watched the child circle the room, his fingertips dancing over the spines on the lower shelves. _Your parents must have taken you to libraries,_ he determined. _I can't imagine why else you'd be so comfortable in here when the living room spooked you so badly. Unless…_ He shifted from one foot to the other, comparing the soft, worn leather of the chairs in front of him now to the formal feel of the furniture in the other space. _You were okay with the den. You got used to the dining room pretty quick, it seemed, once we'd eaten in there a couple of times. The study didn't seem to bug you, and this place has you enchanted, so…lived in spaces, is that it? A sense of…of use? _

That was it, the epiphany struck him. _Signs of life. You couldn't picture people living in the living room or the entryway, they're too perfect. And you're right, we __don't__ live in those spaces, not really. They're more for the public eye, at least until Christmas. But the others…these are the rooms where our lives take place. Add on the kitchen for Alfred and the cave for me, and you've got just about everywhere we really care to spend much time when we're home. In fact,_ he almost laughed, _we practically don't need the rest of the house, except our respective bedrooms. Although we ought to refurbish the game room…I can see that getting a fair bit of use once you've settled in a little bit, maybe made a couple of friends._

"This place is amazing."

Bruce looked down to find the boy standing directly in front of him again. "You like it?"

"Yes. It doesn't freak me out at all."

"…Do you like to read?"

He nodded. "Umm…m-mom," he managed the word, still recovering from his earlier recollection, "used to take me to libraries a lot. We almost never checked anything out, because we weren't going to be around very long and they usually won't give you a library card without an address, but…sometimes, if we were camped close to town, she and I would walk in after breakfast. And we'd go to the library, and sit and read for a long time." He closed his eyes. "Sometimes she'd read to me, and sometimes we'd just sit together and read our own books. Once we went to a library where they were having a book sale, and we…well, we were supposed to go to the grocery store after, but…we spent part of the money on books, instead. So we ate vegetable stew for, like, a week straight, but…we had books. We bought so many that mom had to redo her crates so there was room for them all. She loved books. Sometimes I think maybe she liked them more than she did trapeze…." He sniffled, not quite crying but close.

Wincing, Bruce made a quiet offer. "…You can come in here any time you want, kiddo. Check with Alfred if you want to read something you're not familiar with, but…go to town." _…I don't even know what your reading level __is__. There might not be anything in here in your range…_

"That…that means a lot to me. I kind of…I guess I kind of feel closer to her, in here. She would have liked this room." _And I can come in here any time I want, he said. So…I can feel close to her whenever I want. _With that realization, he gave the billionaire the first completely unforced smile he'd produced in a week. "Thank you." _Maybe I'll just __live__ in here…_

The billionaire's lips curved uncontrollably upwards, forming a partner look to the one being beamed up at him. The feeling growing in his chest as tiny, underused muscles flexed in his face was foreign, having been forgotten long ago; now, finding it again, his knees shook. _No,_ he bit back. _Thank __you._


	22. Chapter 22

After dinner that night, Dick, still very hesitant about moving around the strange house on his own, asked if they could return to the library. Bruce, seeing an opportunity to get work done in his study while the boy was occupied nearby, agreed readily. Leaving the doors to both spaces open allowed him to watch as the child ringed the room over and over again, craning his neck to read titles on higher shelves. When twenty minutes passed during which he didn't see him go by, however, he frowned and stood up.

"…Kiddo?" He stepped inside to find him on the rolling ladder, busy examining the highest shelves, some ten feet off the floor. "You okay up there?"

"Yup!" He clambered down. "…Is something wrong?" _Maybe I shouldn't have climbed up without asking permission,_ he bit his lip.

"…No. Nothing's wrong. Why?"

"You looked kind of funny for a second, that's all." _I think you would tell me if I'd done something wrong, so I guess it's okay. _He cocked his head. "…Bad thought?"

He suppressed a shudder, not wanting to think about the awful scene that had played behind his eyes for a second; the boy falling from over twice his height up, Bruce unable to reach him before he slammed into the dark hardwood below. Blood, death, destruction. _There's been too much of that already,_ he shook himself firmly. "Yeah," he confessed, "but it's gone now."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad it's gone."

_Me, too. _"…Did you find something to read?"

Bright blue eyes widened. "_So_ much," he confided. "I didn't like to start long books at the library, because I never had time to finish them and I didn't want to wait weeks and weeks for more of the story. But…I mean, if…if I'm staying here," he blushed, "then I have time to read them. Right?"

_You must have found things at your level, then. Good._ "Right. And you _are_ staying here, Dick. So…what are you going to start with?" he asked, noting that there wasn't anything in the boy's hand yet.

"Either _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ or _Arabian Nights_. I can't decide. Which one do you think is better?"

"…You should start with Verne," Bruce answered firmly. "I think the only copy of _Arabian Nights_ we have isn't, uh…kid-friendly."

"Really?" he asked quizzically. "I didn't know there were two versions."

"Oh, trust me, there are. Don't read _Nights_ until I check on it, okay? If we don't have a good version for you, we'll get you one."

"…You don't have to buy stuff for me, Bruce. Honest. I mean, there's like a thousand other books in here I could read." He frowned slightly. "You have a lot of books that aren't in English," he commented.

"There are a lot of good books that haven't been translated. But that doesn't mean that they aren't worth reading. Plus, some stories are just better in their native tongue."

"…So you can read all of those languages?"

"Almost all of them."

"Wow…you must really like French, then. You have a _ton_ of books in French." _I wish I could read French,_ he thought wistfully. _I can sort of understand it from listening to mom, but…she had to leave all of her books behind when she went with dad, so she never taught me how to read it._

_Mother's books,_ Bruce thought with a little wince. "When we get you set up in school, maybe there will be an option for you to take a language, if you want. That's a ways off, though; I don't think we're going to send you until fall."

"…School?" He frowned. "I've never…you know…been to a real school. Is that…is that okay?"

"It shouldn't be a problem. If you're reading Jules Verne at your age, I think you'll be fine. You know, _Leagues_ was originally written in French."

"Really?! I didn't know that. Then that's _definitely_ the one I want to read first." Turning away, he moved lightly to a shelf halfway across the room, searching the story back out.

_He steps on the balls of his feet first,_ the billionaire noted. _Is that just because he's still nervous, or does he always walk like that? It makes him quiet when he moves, that's for sure, _he thought as the boy's socks barely whispered on their way back to him. "You remembered where it was, after all the other things you looked at?" he arched an eyebrow.

"I knew I wanted to read it soon, if I had a chance I mean, so…I marked it in my head," he shrugged back.

…_Huh._ "…Do you want to come read in my study?" he offered.

A resounding affirmative leapt to the end of his tongue, held back only by an ardent desire not to be a bother. "I won't disturb you?"

"Not unless your idea of reading is a full-scale reenactment, no."

"They don't let you do those in most libraries," he half-smiled.

"Good point," the billionaire nodded, the corner of his lip hitching upwards. _I swear this kid's giving me a facial tic…_

"…That would be really nice, Bruce."

"Well, come on, then." His hand fell to rest between the child's shoulder blades, and he guided him gently across the hall. _I don't know how well this is really going to work,_ he thought once they were inside. _No one's ever just…hung out in here while I was working._

Dick, however, proved to be the ideal fellow occupant, curling up in one of the large leather seats on the visitor's side of the desk and propping his book on his knees before falling silently into the story. After a few minutes of adjustment to the presence of another person, Bruce became equally as ensnared by his paperwork. Two hours passed in that manner, the only sound between them the slight rustling of pages and the occasional half-sneeze from the boy.

A light knock on the doorframe caused the man at the desk to look up around eight thirty. "Alfred?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but have you seen Master Dick?"

"He's right here," he nodded towards the chair. "…Asleep, apparently." _How long ago did you do that, kiddo?_ he wondered a little guiltily. _I wasn't paying attention..._

"Well, he _is_ still getting over his cold," the butler reminded, dropping his voice as he came into the room. "Never mind everything else. It's no wonder he's still catching up on his rest. I see he found something to read," he noted, pulling the book carefully from lax fingers. Bruce handed him a piece of paper, and he marked the page before closing the tome. "Ah, Mr. Verne. Excellent choice. A bit advanced for an eight-year-old," he looked rather impressed, "but he seems to have gotten a fair distance into it, so it must be holding his attention."

"…He noticed mother's books," the billionaire said softly.

"Her French collection, sir?" Alfred inquired, his voice equally reverent.

"Yeah." His pen tapped softly against the desk for the duration of a long silence. "Anyway," he sighed, "you never said who was on the phone earlier."

"Ah, yes, I did mean to apprise you of that," his lips tightened. "…It would appear that the press has caught wind of our recent addition to the household."

"…Oh." _Damn hounds. He's been here less than two days, and they're already sniffing around._ A calculating look spread across his face. "I could really screw with them, Alfred," he smirked.

"…Sir?"

"I should tell all of the Gotham papers that the exclusive interview is going to the _Daily Planet_. Their heads would explode." _I'd be throwing Clark a pretty serious bone if I did that, but it would almost be worth it to metaphorically deck the local vultures._

"While that would be amusing, Master Wayne," the butler tipped him a look that made it clear he wasn't being sarcastic in the least, "I fear it might only make them more eager. I told the reporter who phoned while you were in the kitchen that there would be a press release forthcoming, but she seemed equally as interested in photos. As did the three others who called afterwards," he added.

"Christ. Can't they just leave us alone?"

"…I'm afraid your wealth and public persona both tend to attract media attention, sir. The only consolation we might have is that the young master is likely to be used to having his picture taken, before performances and the like."

"It's different with those bas-" he broke off, fully cognizant of the look he would receive for swearing in front of the boy. "…With those delightful members of the journalistic community who prey on the personal, private moments of others for their daily bread."

"There's no avoiding it forever, sir. He'll have to be introduced to the worlds you inhabit sooner or later."

"…You say that like you mean all of them."

"That's not my call to make, Master Wayne, but…mark him. He's too clever to be kept out of the loop for long." _And I think you already know it._

"Yeah, well, he'll be kept out of one, at least, for as long as possible," Bruce frowned. "…But I guess the society world won't wait much longer, will it?" he sighed a moment later, sounding defeated.

"It would appear not, no."

"They're going to _have_ to wait until that bruising clears up. It will raise too many questions."

"…I wonder, sir, if it wouldn't be advantageous to _let_ them see it? It could take care of the Miss Randall problem without any…outside involvement."

The billionaire shook his head. "No. She's already threatened to suggest that I only took him in for…for reasons that I won't go into. I agreed not to blow the whistle on her little detention center scheme in exchange for her not making insinuations about my character that could get him taken away. I won't risk that."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose that's completely understandable." He paused. "If I may ask…insinuations, or…_insinuations_?"

"The latter."

He flinched. "…Well." _I would understand her concern, I suppose, had she shown any care for Master Dick's wellbeing before he was offered a home. After all, you've never shown interest in taking in a child before, even with all of your other charitable works, and we do have a rather odd family structure. As things are, however, such a disgusting proposition is completely out of line. People such as her blacken the name of civil service…_ "If I may make a completely unrelated suggestion, sir?" he ventured after he watched Bruce stare pensively at the sleeping boy for nearly a full minute.

"What's that, Alfred?"

"I believe it's in the young master's best interest that he have a dose of cough syrup before bed, especially," he said pointedly, "if he'll be spending even part of the night alone in his room. However, he's had no opportunity as yet to have the cookies I promised this morning. I thought you might like to move him up to bed. I imagine he'll find the energy for you to read him a few pages," he lifted the book Dick had been reading, "especially if he has a late snack in hand."

"…That's not a bad idea," the billionaire considered. "…I assume you're bringing up cookies for both of us?"

"No, sir, I thought to leave you without," the Englishman replied drily. "This seems like a remarkably foolish question to have to ask, but…do I sense a hint of jealousy?"

"What?!" Bruce arched an eyebrow.

"First your sandwich crusts, and now the question about cookies. Surely you don't think I'm going to stop butlering to you now that he's in the house?"

"…Alfred, that's ridiculous. Why would I think that?" _…Maybe a little? _he mused silently._ I don't begrudge him the attention, don't get me wrong, it's just…I guess I've got some things to adjust to other than my own hesitations, that's all. I don't hold it against Dick, it's just…different. _

He studied him for a second. "…Forgive me, Master Wayne, I must have been mistaken." _I wasn't though, was I, my boy? You've spent the last twenty years with me serving no one other than you, barring social occasions; it would be very unlike you, indeed, to not feel at least a moderate amount of jealousy over the fact that I am now caring for another person as well as yourself. Even if you don't hold it against him, which clearly you do not, that doesn't keep it from affecting __your__ attitude. But perhaps now that I've brought it up you'll realize exactly how 'ridiculous' the idea that I would take from you in order to give to him is. After all, there's more than enough of everything to go around, my affections included._

"…Yeah, I think you probably were." _Shit. We both know you weren't. Still, that doesn't mean I have to admit as much._ He cleared his throat. "So…cookies upstairs in ten?"

"Very good, sir," the butler nodded, retreating. _I swear, in some ways children never really __do__ grow up. I suppose I ought to find that comforting, but quite frankly at the moment it's merely a bit irksome._

…_Should I wake you up, kiddo, or just carry you?_ Bruce debated when he was alone with the boy again. _I think I'll just carry you. I haven't broken a sweat in going on two days, I could use the exercise. Not that you weigh enough to really pose a challenge._ His eyes softened as he considered how small the child looked, curled up at the back of the chair with a tiny slip of flesh visible through the hole in his sock. _Who would have ever thought that could be cute? I'm amazed Alfred hasn't spotted it yet, though, he's normally a hawk for holes and stains._

"Mmph…Bruce?" was asked sleepily as he picked him up.

"Hey there," he greeted. "Got kind of tired, did you?"

"Yeah…I don't have to go to bed yet, do I?"

There was a note of fear in his voice that made the billionaire's step falter slightly. "Well, we're going to get you _in_ bed, at least," he explained as they reached the hallway. "But Alfred thought you might like to have a cookie before you went to sleep."

"…Will he let me have it there?"

"I'll tell you a secret; he's a terrible pushover when you're hurt or sick. Don't abuse that knowledge, but…be aware of it. It's good to know."

"Okay." A beat passed. "…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"What…what time is it?"

"About eight forty-five. Nineish. Somewhere in there." _…The show started at eight. Please don't think about that, kiddo, _he begged silently._ Please don't remember that a week ago now they were already dead._

"…You know your clock's wrong?"

He almost froze. _No. You did __not__ already notice that. How can I keep things you don't need to know about from you if you see __everything__? _"What clock?" he asked, playing clueless.

"The one back there, in the hall a little past your study door. It says the wrong time." 

"Oh, _that_ clock." _Shit. You're as bad as Alfred is, spotting all the little details. It's fantastic, but…also inconvenient._ "It always says that time. It's been broken for years," he lied. "But I like it too much to get rid of it."

"Oh." He tilted his face back down into the man carrying him's shoulder. "I'm glad you already know about it, then."

"Yeah, I know about it." _You have __no__ idea, trust me. _"But thanks for telling me."

"You're welcome," he yawned.

Neither spoke again until Dick, bleary-eyed and slow-moving, had emerged from the bathroom in pajamas. "Your cookie should be here in a minute," Bruce informed him. "…Do you want to keep reading while we wait?"

"Would…would you read it to me? I'm too sleepy to do it myself," he requested as he approached.

"Sure," the billionaire nodded. "Come on, under the covers," he held them up for him.

The boy tumbled in easily, eyes glittering under half-closed lids while the blankets were tucked around him and the story recommenced. As the freshly captured adventurers prepared to slip into slumber aboard the mysterious ship, Dick groped his way towards darkness in an almost-as-unknown bed. Only Alfred's entrance with a plate of baked goods and two small glasses of milk was enough to jerk him back into consciousness at the last second.

"Good timing," Bruce noted, tucking the paper marker back into the book and setting it on the nightstand. "That was the end of the chapter. Were you awake for it?" he teased gently.

"I was falling asleep like they were," the boy admitted, pushing himself upright. "But I'm awake now."

"I'm glad to hear it, young sir," the butler opined as he set the cookies down between his charges and handed each a glass. "It's rather difficult to eat when one is sleeping, I've found."

"That's true," he nodded, taking a bite. His eyes grew larger as he chewed, then swallowed. "…Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Dick?"

"…Did you make these? Like…you know…from scratch?"

"I did indeed. Are they acceptable?"

"'Acceptable?' They're amazing!" he exclaimed. "I mean, everything you made today was good – really good – but these are…" His gaze moved onto Bruce, who was watching him amusedly as he ate his own cookie. "I can't even describe these."

A pleased little smile flitted across the Englishman's face. "Well, I'm very glad that you like them. I shall have to make them more often, in that case."

"Yes, please!"

"I second that motion," Bruce contributed.

"Duly noted," the butler nodded. "…When you've finished, Master Dick, please take a dose of cold medicine. Master Wayne will pour it out for you."

"Okay," he agreed. "Thanks, Alfred."

"Good night, young sir."

The child seemed to pale slightly at the reminder of his approaching bedtime. "…Good night," he answered after a moment.

For a short time, the only sound came from the humidifier, which covered up their chewing and the subsequent gulping down of milk. Finished, Dick set his empty glass carefully aside and accepted the small plastic cup of cough syrup Bruce had waiting for him. "…Uck. That doesn't mix very good with milk," he made a face.

"No? Do you want to go brush your teeth again?" _Alfred will kill me if he finds out I didn't __make__ you brush your teeth after eating cookies, but…you're already in bed._

"Umm…" Glancing towards the door, he shook his head.

"Heh," the billionaire smirked. "You learn fast, kiddo."

"…Dad used to say that, too," he whispered. "Not…not the kiddo part, but…the part about me learning fast."

Bruce, uncertain as to what he could say to that that he hadn't already said, remained silent. A long minute passed.

"…Do you think it's strange that we only met each other a week ago and I'm already…um…living in your house?" Dick said the last quickly, as if he were still uncertain of it.

"I wouldn't call it strange," the man shook his head after a moment's thought. "…I think I'd call it serendipitous."

"Serendipitous…" the boy rolled it over in his mouth. "Doesn't that mean, like, a happy accident?"

"That's more or less exactly what it means," Bruce affirmed. "An unexpected, but lucky, discovery or occurrence."

"…Huh." He laid back in the bed, seeming to mull the word over. "I like it. It's pretty." A few breaths passed. "…They're going to come back tonight, aren't they? The bad dreams?" he asked.

…_I'm not going to lie to you, kiddo._ "Probably so, yeah."

"…And you can't stay to keep them away," he said sadly.

"How do you know that?" the billionaire pushed cautiously.

"I _don't_, I guess, but…Alfred only said goodnight to _me_. So I figured that meant he was going to see you again before you went to bed. Plus, you wanted me to try and nap by myself earlier, so I thought maybe there were things you wanted to do without me, while I was sleeping. I thought that was you trying to…you know…prepare me for it."

He sighed. "…Yeah, I suppose it was," he concurred. _I wish I could stay in tonight, kiddo, I really do, but…there are things that need doing that only Batman can do. And I can't be Batman if I'm here, keeping the nightmares away. I have to go out and try to keep a few new ones from being started. I wish I could tell you that so that you'd understand, but…not yet. Not until I have to. You've got enough to worry about. _"But now you know where my bedroom is, and the study," he pointed out, "and Alfred will be in either the kitchen or the den until I go to bed. So if you _do_ have a bad dream," he stressed, "or if you need somebody, or something, you know where you can find one or the other of us. Right?"

"…Right." _I don't want to be a bother. He had a whole life before I came along, it's not right to just assume he's going to be able to drop it all because I'm here. Even if he __could__, that doesn't mean that he should, or even would. I'm the new person; it's rude to think that he'll just rearrange his whole life for me. I guess I just have to be brave, and try to fit myself in where I can._ He swallowed hard. "…I'll be okay. Like you said, I…I know where to find you."

"Good." _…I hate this. You're being so good about it, about __all__ of it…and I'm rewarding you by leaving you. I have to, though. Batman has to go out tonight. I don't have a choice._

"But-" Dick threw out quickly as Bruce prepared to stand. "…Will you stay until I fall asleep? Pretty please? I won't try to stay awake or anything, honest." _I just don't want to feel alone._

There was no denying the wide blue eyes that begged that question with fear lurking behind them. The billionaire sat back down immediately. "You bet I will, kiddo." Hearing that, the boy's eyes slipped shut, his expression somewhat relieved. "…No problem."

…_You are so damn adorable when you're sleeping,_ he thought a few minutes later. A tiny growl slipped past his lips suddenly, startling him. _And that,_ he realized grimly as chains began to break in the back of his mind,_ apparently __is__ a problem. Sweet dreams, kiddo._ He rose, then hesitated even though he knew he needed to get downstairs, _right now_. Bending, he brushed a light kiss against the child's undisturbed forehead. _Just…don't wake up until morning, okay? Leave the nightmares to me. After all,_ he shut the bedroom door silently behind him and turned to stalk down the hallway, _I'm used to living with them._


	23. Chapter 23

It was a busy night on the streets of Gotham; fortunately, Batman had energy to burn.

Eight or nine criminals into the evening, his half-blind rage began to cool, and he took up a position overlooking a frequent mugging hotspot. _…The boy is a problem,_ he mused. _Not an incurable one, but…a problem, nonetheless._

He was giving himself away too fast. It was one thing to be impressed, even maybe…proud…of the child's obvious intelligence, reasoning, and keen interest – all things which Batman valued in himself as well as in others – but that _melting_ feeling he got whenever the kid looked at him the right way…that had to stop. _He's already come too far. That moment in the library earlier, with the 'bad thoughts'…how did he know that? He's quick, but he shouldn't be able to read my mind. It would be one thing if he just knew me well enough to deduce things from my body language and other signals due to time spent together, for instance if he was my_…_my actual son, _his brain stuttered for a moment. _But he isn't. He shouldn't know me so well, so quickly._

Something moved down below, drawing his attention. An elderly man wobbled down the sidewalk, fedora pulled protectively low over his brow, his cane hand shaking with a mixture of palsy and fear as he made his way past dark alleyway entrances. He was right to be afraid; venturing down one of the city's most feared streets in the dead of night wasn't an intelligent choice for the young and fit, let alone for someone who lacked the physical capacity to stand up for themselves against the monsters lurking in the shadows. It didn't take long for his passage to be challenged as two figures separated from the darkness and stepped forward, blocking his way. Batman slipped closer, trying to hear their conversation as he approached. _This guy can't have much on him. They're after something other than money._

"…Please, boys, I ain't got nothing you want. No money," the elderly fellow's voice, as unstable as his hands, pled. "Only thing in my pockets is a quarter for the bus tomorrow morning, and my medication. Ain't no use in sticking me up. Don't do this to yourselves, rob an old man. You're both strong-looking, you can find yourself an honest job. Take my advice, don't go down this road."

"Psh, you say that like this is our first rodeo, pops," one of them snorted.

_Pops,_ the silent figure now directly overhead mused. _Pop. Pop Haly. God damn it, quit thinking about the boy and concentrate!_

"Yeah, we look new to this to you?" the other pitched in.

"…No, you don't, but that's all the more reason to stop now. You want to check my pockets, you go right on ahead. You take whatever you find. But I'm begging you, stop after that. This ain't a life you want. I know, I been there. Been on both sides of…" his voice faltered as a small handgun appeared in one of the younger men's hands, "…of the gun. Multiple times. It's not worth it."

"You don't think? I do," the armed mugger answered. "You know what kind of money you can get for pills on the street? Shit. It's worth it."

"…They're just heart pills, boys, they ain't gonna give you no high…"

"So long as the people buying them _think_ they'll get high, they'll get high enough to come back for more. And that's all we need," the second one shrugged. "That, and supply, of course. So…hand it over."

…_This is the kind of person that Kevin will turn into someday. Threatening the elderly so they can palm off their life-preserving medications as a quick high…fathering children they never care to see, let alone support…hitting innocent children whose only offense was feeling grief…fuck! __Stop thinking about him__!_ With an angry snarl aimed more at himself than at the two thieves, he dropped into the shadows behind the one holding the gun. In an instant the weapon had been lobbed into the pitch-black side street, its owner's scream following it as his arm was snapped. The second mugger almost managed to turn around before he was hit with an uppercut that threw him to the hard cement with an unattractive _thud. _Batman followed him down, zip-tied him with expert speed, and then restrained the crying gunman without showing any mercy for his broken limb.

"…You see?" the would-be victim limped closer. "It ain't worth it. There's always _somebody_ watching you. Why you boys think I got out of the business?"

"Because you're a crippled old fuck," the one who'd been punched moaned. "Gah!" he screamed a second later as a steel-toed boot connected with his ribs. "The _fuck_, man?"

"…The police will be here shortly," the caped man stated, speaking to the senior citizen without looking towards him. "If you wait, they should be able to give you a ride home." Without giving him a chance to respond, he rose into the blackness, striding along rooftops until he couldn't have seen the bound criminals even had he bothered to look back.

The local churches began to chime the hour. No two struck at the same time, turning what should have been a pleasant marker of the day's passage into an aggravating cacophony of clashing bells. Batman paid notice only long enough to gather the time before changing direction and swinging off towards a neighboring quarter of the city. _One o'clock. The German should be out and about by now. Good, I want to make some headway on Dick's case…_ He shook himself. _On the Grayson murders,_ he corrected himself irefully. _Quit finding ways to think about him. _

Few people still breathing in Gotham remembered what The German's name had been when he first came to the city; those that _did_ recall were careful to keep quiet about it. Batman, naturally, numbered among those who knew that the city's top man for information had been born Sean O'Flannery, the first son of a Texas family that flew the flag of Eire alongside the Lone Star on the dusty remains of what had once been good ranchland. The only things he had brought east to remind him of home were his cowboy accent and the massive huntman's pipe he smoked at all times. The pipe – a relic, he claimed, brought back from Europe by his grandfather at the end of the Second World War – had earned him his moniker, and was the only thing about him that was even remotely Germanic. Nevertheless, he clung to the nickname, and heaven help anyone who dared refer to him otherwise.

A pungent, lingering haze indicated that the informant had been leaning against his chosen light post for some time before the vigilante dropped down behind him. "...German."

"Well, if it ain't Gotham's finest prowler," was puffed back. "Come to collect your dues, I reckon? Been a couple months, you know; I was startin' to think you didn't need me anymore." He chuckled, amused at himself. "But I don't suppose that'll be the case 'til one or both of us is six feet under."

"Have you heard of anyone with an acid fetish lately?" the black-clad man cut straight to the point. The German had been lying low lately, and as such he was the one person Batman hadn't yet inquired with about the murders. Despite what everyone else had already told him and what his own investigation had turned up, though, he was hesitant to write off Gotham as the home of the Graysons' murderer without hearing from this man. _You're the best there is, O'Flannery,_ he rumbled silently. _Give me something good._

"Ain't acid _always_ a fetish? You're gonna have to be more specific."

"Nitric, possibly mixed with something else." The frayed, twisted shards of metal he'd managed to get from the big top hadn't given him much to go on, but he'd determined that much.

"…You must be pullin' my leg. Anybody and their mother kin get hands on nitric, you know that."

"I asked about fetishists, not buyers. Repeat users."

"…Was a couple bodies found in a warehouse 'bout a week back. Someone worked on 'em with acid. Real amateur," he snorted.

"Any ties to extortion?" He'd heard about the find, but there had been so many other things going on in the past seven days that the half-dissolved corpses kept getting shoved further down on his list of priorities.

"Naw, this was just a couple druggies. Looked like they was gettin' played with, that's all. Might even have been dead before the acid." Drawing deep on his pipe, The German held his breath, then released two long streams of smoke from his nostrils. "…Ain't nobody serious has even been rumored of playin' with that stuff, least not that I heard. People've got a bad taste in their mouths for it, what with it being on the news all the time 'bout people throwing it at little girls walkin' to school over in them other countries. Ain't nobody wants to be called a terrorist; they're plenty happy just being thug bosses."

"…What about outside of Gotham?" _It must be Newtown…I don't have time to go out there tonight...shit._

"Who cares about outside of Gotham? This is where the real money is. Right here." He turned, finally, just enough to glance behind him. "…That all you wanted, was to talk about fetishes?" he grinned. The look faded, however, as he failed to locate the figure he knew had just been behind him. "Damn, I hate the way he does that…takin' off in the middle of people's sentences is just plain rude."

_Useless. _With The German having done nothing more than tell him what he already knew, there was little else that he could do for either of his cases in the field that night. That being the situation, he made his way back to the car and began the drive to the cave, guiding the vehicle around curves from sheer habit as his mind wandered.

_I have to get to the bottom of this,_ he fumed. _Even if the perpetrator is based in Newtown, they committed a crime inside Gotham jurisdiction. Besides, jurisdiction doesn't matter when it's murder._ Especially, he didn't allow himself to admit, when it was the double murder of young parents. Perhaps even more important than that was the implication for the city if this was the start of a push from an outsider for a more lucrative territory. A big gang war like the one that had been raging when he first took the cowl out on the street was the last thing Gotham needed. _And the last thing __I__ need,_ he added. _If Dick loses another person right now…_ Behind his lenses, his eyes narrowed. _Fuck! __Five minutes__ without thinking about the kid! Is that so much to ask?_

…_He's too far in already,_ he reiterated to himself half an hour later as he rolled to a stop and shut the auto down. _He shouldn't intrude down here, or out there, __ever__. This investigation has little enough for me to work with, and he's not helping. This can't go on. _

Still sitting in the driver's seat, he took several long, deep breaths, clearing his mind. _Nitric acid. Nitric acid and Newtown. There was a double murder – it doesn't matter of who,_ he told himself firmly – _and it needs solved before whoever this is tries to push into Gotham. The city is far from peaceful, but better the devils I know than those I don't. And anyone with the spine to strike from __Newtown__ of all places could really screw things up. People that brazen tend to be either too insane or too narcissistic to give up, even after you knock them down._

When he finally seemed to have banished the boy from his head, he exited the vehicle and moved to his least-often used file cabinet. _Newtown,_ his lips tightened as he pulled out the relatively few folders he had on the place. Sitting down and beginning to flip through them, he realized how long it had been since he'd given them a thorough culling. _Dead,_ he set the pages detailing the career of one crime boss aside as he located the man's obituary online. _Also dead. In prison – that doesn't rule him out, though. Moved to Metropolis._ A thin smirk accompanied that. _Superman can have him. Dead._ By the time he reached the bottom of the stack, there were only four possibilities, and two of them were in prison. _…Shit. This is why I focus on Gotham; trying to manage two cities is impossible. Hell, __Gotham's__ impossible for one person…_

An hour later, he was no closer to an answer. All four of his suspects washed out, with none of their goons' most recent activities indicating a tie to expanded racketeering. _If anything_, he determined, peering in mild frustration at the list of crimes each boss' underlings had amassed since his last file update, _their strength seems to have decreased, across the board. _Pulling up a map of the neighboring borough, he plotted the illegal activities he found indictments for, then compared it to the situation two years prior. _…There was a little movement into the areas that used to be controlled by the others,_ he frowned, _but not much. And their territories shrank in total square blocks…so who's controlling all of that open area? They aren't just letting that space be held by free agents. Someone else must have moved in, but…_

But the map looked all wrong. The four bosses who had carried over from before were each based in a separate quarter of the city. None of their zones of control overlapped, and the shipping and agricultural manufacturing district that made up the heart of Newtown's economy was completely untouched. _…Someone new is in play,_ he shook his head. _This is a completely different configuration than just a few years ago. This isn't boundary evolution in action; someone staged a coup. Several of them, from the looks of things. The question is, __who__? Who had that kind of power, never mind the motive to take over the Newtown underground?_

"…Sir?"

_Damn it, Alfred,_ he bit back. "…Yeah?"

"It's rather late. Are you planning on going back out tonight?"

"No." _The cowl,_ he grimaced. _That's why he's asking; I've still got it on. _It wasn't usually his habit to keep his face covered while he was working inside the cave, excepting the rare occasions when those who didn't know his true identity were present. After having to forcibly push the child out of his mind in the car, however, he had known it would be impossible to keep him excluded once he removed his headgear. Demanding that clarity, he'd opted to leave the garment in place while he reviewed the files. _Go away, Alfred,_ not even Batman could quite bring himself to say. _I'm working._

"…He's had his nightmare again."

The cowl wasn't enough to hold back the wash of concern that came on the heels of that statement. Even if it had been, the fact that he yanked it off an instant after the butler finished speaking would have negated much of its symbolic power. "When?"

"About an hour after you left." _That was unusual,_ he thought. _Not only the fact that you apparently felt the need to stay fully in costume while in the cave, but also the way you removed it once he was mentioned. Perhaps you're gaining the upper hand, then…_ "I didn't speak to him about it, although perhaps I ought to have. All I heard was some faint crying. Since he didn't sound overly distressed, I thought it best to let him work through it. He was asleep again the next time I looked in, but his pillow was wet."

…_How many nights did you stand outside my bedroom and let me 'work through it?'_ Bruce wondered a tad bitterly. _I only ask because it didn't work. Was that a psychologist's idea? Because somehow I don't think it was yours. _He shook off his vague anger. _…Alfred did the best he could. It's not his fault if he was given shitty advice by the professionals who were supposed to help._ _What was he going to do, ignore it and risk CPS saying he wasn't doing what was in my best interest?_ _All I know is that their doctors aren't laying a finger on Dick. Not a chance in hell. _"I'll go check on him," he sighed, rising and heading to change. _…I'll shower in the morning,_ he determined.

…_Disgusting,_ another part of him protested.

_Better that than leaving him crying, by himself, in a strange, empty bedroom,_ he countered._ The shower will wait. I've gone to sleep covered in far worse than my own dried sweat._

"If I may, Master Wayne…any progress on the murders?"

"…Very little," he answered unhappily. "But…a little, still."

"Well, that's better than none at all."

"Yeah. I guess." _It doesn't feel better. Not in the least._

A few minutes later he made his way upstairs, and then to the second floor. _…Oh, kiddo,_ he breathed miserably when he spotted him curled up against the door to the master suite, fast asleep. _How long ago did Alfred check on you? Because I know he wouldn't have left you sitting __there__. _"…Dick?" he asked gently, crouching to touch his shoulder.

"Huh!" he gasped, startling as he woke. He jerked, and his head smacked lightly against the door frame. "Ow!"

"Whoa, okay, kiddo, calm down. It's okay," the billionaire reached out. "Relax."

"…Bruce?" he blinked rapidly, peering around.

"Yeah. What are you doing out here? It's…" he glanced at his watch, "almost four in the morning."

"Oh…I'm sorry," the boy whispered, eyes moist as he directed his gaze to his knees. "I just…I was afraid to go looking for you, because I…I thought I might get lost, even though you showed me where your study was. It's just…it's just so big, you know? But I wanted…well…I was hoping you'd tuck me in again, cause I kept waking up and the blankets are all wrong now but I can't get them _right_ by myself, and…"

"Did you have your dream again?" he asked quietly.

"I…" He nodded. "Twice."

"Okay." _And you didn't scream. You didn't call out for Alfred or me, you just…came out into the hallway and waited in the one place you knew I had to come back to eventually. That's awful, Dicky…I can guess why you didn't cry out, but that only makes the fact that you kept quiet worse._ "Okay. You want to come inside for a little while?"

"…In your room?"

"Yeah."

"…Yes, please. I mean, unless…unless I'll disturb you."

"You won't," he swore. _You might disturb a certain aspect of my character that I'm not particularly fond of right now, but…fuck it. I'll deal with that later. _

"I'd like that," he swallowed. "Please?"

"You bet." Standing, he offered the child his hand. "C'mon, kiddo. Bedtime. And this time," he said firmly, "you won't have to wait in the hall if you need tucked back in. Okay?"

The boy's tiny, trusting smile somehow wasn't dimmed by the few tears that had cascaded down his cheeks. "…Okay."


	24. Chapter 24

After a late breakfast Sunday morning, Alfred bundled both of his charges up against the breeze that had begun blowing at daybreak and gave them leave to venture outdoors. Dick's cough had lessened greatly since Friday afternoon, and despite the light wind the sun was warm, leading the butler to believe that a little fresh air wouldn't hurt him. _It was his request, after all, that they go for a walk,_ he reflected as he saw them out the front door, _and considering the hesitancy about the size of the house that Master Wayne said he expressed early this morning, I'm not surprised in the least that he wants to get outside for a while._

Left alone in the manor, he headed upstairs to do his weekly cleaning of the bedrooms. Usually only the master suite got the full treatment; now, he realized, the child's designated space would have to be rotated in as well. _If nothing else, growing up in a confined space has likely made him a tidy sort,_ he considered as he entered. _…Goodness, but it does feel empty in here._ His eyes lighted on the suitcase, still sitting where it had been left two days earlier, its contents having been rustled through only for clothing and the stuffed elephant that was currently keeping the boy's pillow safe. _Putting his things away might liven the space a bit. Perhaps I shouldn't without the young sir, though…then again, if I don't do it in his absence it may never get done. If yesterday was any indication, Master Wayne won't leave his side except for patrol, and unpacking is quite high on his list of dislikes. Besides, Master Dick hasn't evinced any great desire for privacy, so I don't suppose he'll be offended._

He carried the few remaining items of clean clothing into the closet and began to hang them, purposefully placing everything on the lower rod so that their owner could easily reach what he needed. _I'll have to procure him a more varied wardrobe while we're out tomorrow…although depending on how vicious the paparazzi are being, it may be best if I leave him with Master Wayne for that as well as for the visit with CPS. _The shops he planned to visit were high-end enough to have strictly enforced anti-media rules, but there was still the problem of getting in and out of them. _If nothing else, that may save him some of the initial stress of having things bought for him by people who are essentially strangers,_ he decided, brushing a few wrinkles out of a shirt. _And if it keeps him out of the limelight for a bit longer, as well, that's only a betterment of the deal._

Stepping back into the main room a minute later, the butler sighed. _…To say that this is a different situation than it was with Master Wayne would be a gross understatement. If only…well. I did what I could,_ he defended himself as he had a hundred thousand times before. _And I'm certain that the doctors didn't mean to do him any harm…if I'd just been able to stop myself calling them in one after the other, maybe them…_

Alfred had successfully navigated kaleidoscopic situations many times before beginning his career as a butler for the Wayne family, and that experience meant that there was no one in the world better suited than he to handle the varied day-to-day schedules of the busy young family. After the murders, it seemed like his civilian skill set was once again the perfect fit, as the news media cried out for information, the police searched everywhere for clues, and the hundred organizations the victims had been tied to simultaneously offered condolences and sought assurance of future funding. In the midst of the chaos, he had almost been able to pretend that nothing had occurred; he was no busier than he usually found himself at the height of the Gotham social season, after all, and he saw his employers roughly the same amount as was usual during that time of the year. He juggled everything with an ease that left all impressed and resulted in his receiving job offers from no fewer than a half-dozen other of Gotham's finer families, all of which were turned down. Eventually things began falling into their final resting places, and that was when he'd realized that somewhere along the way, unnoticed by all, he'd dropped the most important ball of the lot; Bruce.

He denied it at first. The boy's parents had been like family to him even before the heir's birth, and the day of his naissance had been nearly as joyful for Alfred as for Thomas and Martha. Watching him grow was the Englishman's first taste of parental pride, for all that the offspring was not biologically his own; no one's needs took precedence over those of the young master in his book. Surely, _surely_ there was no way he could have neglected him in the aftermath of the tragedy. Surely not.

And yet, he slowly realized, he somehow had. Between fielding phone calls, making funeral arrangements, preparing the house for and receiving a never ending stream of guests, signing documents for police, social services, attorneys, and members of a dozen other professions, and stealing just a few private moments to shed his own tears of grief for the lost couple, the boy had slipped through the cracks. The first few days, small hands had clung to his sleeve at all hours, refusing to let go of the only truly familiar person they had left unless they were forced away. Despite the need being evinced – and in hindsight it was glaringly obvious what the boy wanted - many times during those earliest weeks Alfred uncurled the six-year-old's fingers and urged him gently back, away from the cameras, out of earshot of the journalists, to somewhere, anywhere, that he could have a moment of quiet to himself. _Surely_, he thought, _he must want silence and solitude, with all of these strange people stomping through the house. Goodness knows I'd pay a tidy sum for five minutes with nothing more than a cup of tea for company. No…scratch that. In this situation, a glass of brandy seems in better order._

That was the problem; _he_ wanted to retreat into peace, yes, because he was an adult, able to comb through his feelings and the facts related to them in an effort to make some sense of what had happened. Given time to process things, he was stable enough to bind his wounds more or less by himself. But Bruce, for all that he could recite the periodic table forwards and backwards, was still a child, and as such didn't have the skills to even begin to deal with his own bleeding psyche. What he wanted, what he _needed_, was a hug; what he was given were empty rooms. Isolating him from the furor had seemed an act of kindness when he'd been doing it, but as the dust settled Alfred realized that it had been taken as a punishment. It had been a grave miscalculation, and once he saw what he'd done he had no idea how to correct the problem.

Between the night of his parents' deaths and the morning when the butler finally saw the error he'd made, Bruce had become withdrawn, brooding, and impatient. All three were traits that he had never before evinced more frequently than was to be expected for a youth of his age, and their sudden arrival left the Englishman at a complete loss. Intensely concerned and receiving questioning looks from CPS when the boy's post-trauma psychological exams came back with odd results, he'd taken the logical step of turning to professionals. One after the other, purveyors of a hundred different methods were invited to have a go at the increasingly confused and frustrated child. Each had their own ideas, usually contradictory to what had been tried a month or a year before, their own jargon, and their own prescriptions. Group sessions, yoga, pills, role playing, hypnotism, more pills…none of it worked.

Four years into the parade, Alfred stopped it, sensing that his charge was laughing silently at each new doctor he was introduced to. No progress had been made, but he'd grown used to the surly bailiff the youth had created to guard the walls around his heart. When the chemicals of manhood caused that dark paladin to no longer be content with a purely defensive role, the butler had been unable to rile up a sense of shock; it was only natural, especially considering the fact that the gunman had never been brought to justice.

But, as he'd told Leslie, he'd never forgotten about the prince who, damaged and disrespected by the world he'd thought he could trust, had locked himself up inside his massively fortified castle. Never forgetting, however, didn't mean he could do anything to help. Surrounded on all sides by his defenses, Bruce was alone, and lonely; that way there was no one who could hurt him other than himself. It was possible, Alfred had considered on several occasions, that the emotions he had been hiding from to begin with were now such distant memories that he barely missed them in more than a vague, passing fashion any more. At first the thought had lent him a little comfort; perhaps ignorant bliss could be construed as a form of happiness. The idea fled almost as quickly as it had come when he reminded himself that the black avenger who had started out as a little boy's mental toy soldier now seemed to be running the show while the hesitant man in the citadel faded further into the shadows of his own life. Even if that _was_ happiness, it certainly wasn't healthy.

Bruce was his greatest pride; Batman was his biggest regret. _The mask,_ he'd reflected grimly the first time he'd watched blank lenses close over the eyes he had known since they first opened to the world, _has become his face. And that is all due to a short period of inattentiveness on my part, and my failure to properly rectify the situation afterwards._ _My dear Thomas and Martha, I can never make up for the wrong I have done you in my handling of your son. Batman saves lives, but at the cost of Bruce. It is not an exchange it should ever have occurred to him to make, and I will never live my complicity down. I don't deserve to._

Massaging his eyes at the surge of memories, the Englishman paused in his stripping of the bed and sat down. _For twenty years,_ he mused, _I have tried to coax him to feel again, to get him to remember how much beauty there is in the world along with pain, and he has consistently refused. How did Master Dick – a __child__ – manage what a veritable army of well-meaning adults could not? It's almost as if he just fell from the sky behind the walls, and never faced the guard…_ Given his younger charge's recent history, the image was disturbing, and he frowned at it. _In any case, he seems to have not only reminded him that there are good things about positive feelings, but he even has him pitting himself against…well…to be fair, against himself. I know there's little more I can do besides hope that the battle doesn't destroy the one I've been cheering for all along, but…if only there was. I would do it, and gladly, even at the expense of myself._

His eyes narrowed suddenly. _Perhaps the boy is still the key. Master Wayne is trying the one technique that I should have used when he was a child, but never did – blatant affection. And,_ he thought, _it's working, or at least it seems to be. The young master may still be having his nightmares and crying over his memories, and there's no blaming him for that, but he's clearly gotten better just since his arrival in this house. He smiled at breakfast this morning,_ his own lips curved upwards slightly as he remembered, _and again right before they left, when Master Wayne mentioned our squirrel population. He wasn't smiling when he first arrived here, and he __certainly__ didn't do so at the Center, so…he's improving. The method is working for him, and quickly. If seeing that positive change strengthens Master Wayne against his adversary, then it might help him if the boy improves faster…_

Rubbing his hands together, he stood. _This dark, empty room can't be helping his adjustment any. He's a bright child, and he deserves a bright space. Let's make it as much of one in his absence as we can. _The small number of items remaining in the bag quickly found homes: the scarf was unfurled across the top of the dresser, its colors contrasting brilliantly with the dark wood; the bottle of perfume it had cushioned rested on a shelf alongside the lion-decorated top; the small photo album went straight to the nightstand shelf, close at hand for instant memory gratification. He found the poster just as he was about to zip the suitcase shut and stash it in the closet. "Well, if this doesn't bring a bit of life in, I can't imagine what would," he opined out loud. _Over the bed, I think; it will be visible from anywhere in the room that way, and may prove soothing for him when he wakes up at night._

"Uh…Alfred?" Bruce's voice interrupted him nearly an hour later.

"Hmm?" he turned inquiringly, having become so involved in his redecorating that he had all but forgotten that his charges were completely unaware of what he was up to. "Ah, Master Dick," he greeted the boy, who was busy taking all of the changes in with a mildly stunned look. _Oh, hell, have I gone overboard? I hope I haven't upset him…this room was probably the one he felt most familiar with, and I've changed a fair bit on him with no warning…_ "I thought now that your tastes are a bit clearer a few slight modifications to the décor were called for." He paused. "Are they to your liking? We can certainly change them back if you'd prefer."

Dick took it all in slowly. Most of the alterations were centered on the bed area, although he noted that his bag had been unpacked and cleared away, as well. In the sleeping space, a starburst quilt of greens, yellows, and grays had replaced the plain comforter; at the head of the mattress, the standard pillows had been usurped by an array of smaller, multicolored poufs and bolsters, among which Elinor was posed. The utilitarian lights on the nightstands had transformed into a pair of variegated Tiffany lamps. Most importantly, the glossy Haly's Circus poster had been unfolded, carefully ironed, and placed inside a flamboyant gold-and-green frame that now acted as the focal point of the entire room. A slow, happy smile spilled across his face as Bruce's hand came down gently on his shoulder. "…This is _amazing_," he whispered.

His vote of approval drew a much-relieved nod from Alfred. "I'm quite happy to hear that. We'll have to pick up a few other things – a rug for under your bed, perhaps, and some different curtains – but if you're pleased, then I daresay we've put these items to good use. _Oof,_" he let out a surprised exhalation as fifty-odd pounds of acrobat hit him mid-waist.

The boy grinned up at him. "It's perfect," he announced, pulling away after a second when his hug was met with a kind pat on the back. "…Thank you. You didn't have to do any of that."

"I must confess, Master Dick, that once I began I became a bit swept away. I didn't even hear you come upstairs." He checked the time. "…And now as a result your lunch is going to be late."

"But…it's really neat in here now. Not that it wasn't before, or anything," Dick clarified, embracing himself happily, "it's just…even neater."

"I'm delighted that it suits you," Alfred couldn't keep the smile out of his eyes as the boy began to bounce lightly up and down on the balls of his feet. "Perhaps in exchange you'll consent to share the highlights of your walk while you eat, hmm?"

"Sure!"

"Very good, then. I look forward to hearing all about it." With that, he moved towards the hallway.

"Hey, Alfred?" Bruce breathed as the butler passed him.

"Yes, sir?"

"It looks good. Really good, actually."

_You're staring at him, not the room, but…I'll take it as a compliment in any case. And,_ he added, _as a good sign._ "Thank you," he replied. "…I do my best."

"…Yeah," the billionaire nodded, not meeting his gaze. "I know you do. You always have."

_Yes, well…at least this time my efforts appear to have been successful,_ the Englishman didn't speak aloud. "I…yes, sir." He cleared his throat. "Lunch will be ready shortly."

"…Thanks," Bruce's voice followed him into the corridor. _Don't thank me yet, my boy,_ he couldn't help but sigh to himself. _Not until we see how this all comes out. But until then, I'll continue to do my best. You can both count on that._


	25. Chapter 25

"…What's the state of the third floor these days?" the billionaire returned to the kitchen an hour or so after dinner to inquire.

"Unused but perfectly serviceable, sir," Alfred replied, glancing up from the dishes. "And the telescope is in fine shape."

Bruce paused. "You knew I was thinking about that _how_, exactly?"

"There was a passing mention of a meteor shower on the radio earlier. I assumed that you and Master Dick would be interested in seeing it."

"…When we were out earlier," he confided quietly, "he told me about the lunar eclipse a couple of years ago. I guess a bunch of the circus people went out into the fields where they were camped, and they spread out blankets and stayed up, talking and eating, just to see it." He was quiet for a moment. "He's never going to have a moment like that again, Alfred. That family is lost to him now, through no fault of his own." His voice dropped. "I can never give that back to him."

"No, Master Wayne, you cannot," the butler verified, drying his hands. "But you can give him new traditions, and new memories to cherish. He certainly seemed delighted with the squirrels," he smiled, remembering the boy's amusement during lunch when he'd recalled the antics of the tree-dwelling rodents. "…With your entire walk together, actually."

"You should have seen him when we saw a robin," Bruce's face softened. "I think he would have stood there all day staring at it if it hadn't flown off."

"…Did he comment on his fascination, sir?"

"No, and I didn't ask. It…it seemed personal. I didn't want to upset him." _Not when we were having such a nice time._ "…I should get back to him." He'd only left Dick curled up in front of the study fireplace with his book and a cookie in order to solidify his plans for later that night. _I don't want him to feel abandoned if he's by himself for too long,_ he thought determinedly. _I might be working on paperwork, but at least I'm __there__ in case he needs something._ "We'll head upstairs in a little while."

"I'll bring you up something hot to fight off the chill from the roof portal, then. Would you prefer coffee, or should I make a double batch of hot chocolate?" _Are you going out tonight?_ asked the subtext of the question.

"Coffee for me." As much as he hated to be absent from the house when he knew it was extremely likely that the boy would have nightmares and come looking for comfort, he could already sense a familiar pressure building inside of him. _I don't dare try and skip patrol, especially if I spend another couple of hours with him before putting him to bed,_ he knew. _I don't want another near-loss of control like I had last night. If he hadn't been asleep yet when that hit, I don't know what would have happened. Nothing good, I'm sure; at the very least, my cover with him would have been blown. _

Alfred wasn't surprised. "Very well, sir," he nodded. _…I know this entire process with Master Dick is bringing up unpleasant memories for both of us,_ he sighed when he was alone again, _and it's clearly stirring up some resentment towards me that you've been holding onto, but I am grateful that you're still sharing your thoughts. _In his haste to show his elder charge how well the attentive method the man had chosen to use with the manor's newest occupant was working, he'd skipped over the realization that doing so would throw his own twenty-year failure into sharp contrast. _Well, let him redress me for it now, then, since he could not as a child,_ the butler grimaced, plunging his hands back into the soapy sink. _…I would say 'better late than never,' but the irony of that particular idiom is far too bittersweet for my tastes at the moment._

In the opposite wing of the house, Bruce peeked into the study and spotted a pair of feet going back and forth in the air, crossing and uncrossing themselves as their owner's eyes stayed riveted to the book that lay open on the rug. _He must have finished his cookie,_ his lip twitched. "Hey, kiddo," he greeted, passing into the room without intimating that he'd been standing in the doorway and watching him for the past thirty seconds.

"Hi," came a distracted response. The billionaire raised an eyebrow – _damn, he must really be into the story – _and resumed his seat behind the desk, pulling a batch of paperwork forward. _Okay. One more projection report, and then I'll tell him about the telescope,_ he determined. Two pages later he glanced up to find the boy standing opposite him, closed book clutched to his chest as he peered at the upside-down documents. _How the hell did you get so close without my noticing? This stuff isn't __that__ absorbing. _"…Dick?" he queried.

"Sorry!" he started. "I…I didn't mean to read your secret papers. You just looked so involved, I…I thought it must be something really interesting." He shuffled his feet embarrassedly, faint color rising into his cheeks to war with the fading bruises under his left eye.

A short chuckle escaped the man, catching them both off guard. "You didn't do anything wrong," he shook his head finally. "And trust me, by the time you've read two dozen of these things they're not very interesting anymore."

"Why so many?" the child narrowed his eyes.

"Every department has to turn one in. These are just the conglomerated reports," he patted the stack beside him, "one from each branch of the company. All of _their_ sections turned in numbers, and then somebody in each head office had to put all of that info together so I could read it."

_No wonder he's got so much money,_ Dick thought, amazed. "…Your company sounds huge," he said, his voice a tangle of wariness and respect.

"It's pretty big. But then, companies tend to grow when they've been around for three hundred and some years."

"That's…that's a really long time," he commented, backing up until he bumped into the chair. Leaning against it, he bit his lip. "…Bruce?"

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Have you ever been in a submarine?"

The change of subject was so abrupt that the billionaire fumbled for a minute before answering. "Uh…yes. I have. Why?"

"The story," the boy shrugged. "Could you see things? Like, fish and stuff?"

"Sure," he nodded, understanding the question now as he recalled exactly what the child had been reading since dinner. "It was specially designed to let you see what was outside."

"Was it cool? Being underwater?"

"…Yes and no. It was pretty, but…I prefer to keep my head in the open air."

"Oh, good," he sighed, looking relieved.

"…Is it?" Bruce queried. _…What's this about, anyway?"_

"Well, I just…I've never been in a submarine. And I don't really like putting my face under water. I can do it – I mean, I'm not _afraid_ of it or anything – and diving's okay because it's a good way to practice flips and stuff, but…it makes me uncomfortable. And I was reading, and the story makes being underwater sound really amazing, so I felt kind of bad about that. But if _you_ don't really like it, either, then I guess I'm not really missing out on anything," he smiled bashfully.

"…What _are_ you afraid of?" He hadn't meant to ask the question out loud, and once it had been voiced he kicked himself. _That should be obvious, shouldn't it?_ he snarked. _Being alone. Losing people. Probably falling, for him._

"…I dunno," Dick tilted his head to the side, considering the question. While he hadn't been expecting such a bold-faced inquiry, he figured it was a reasonable enough one. _Besides,_ he mused, _Bruce gave me permission to ask questions when we were in the car yesterday. It's not very fair if I get to ask things and he doesn't._ "You mean besides what we're…what we're both afraid of, right? Don't you?"

_Jesus, kid, that borderline mind-reading thing you do is creepy. You shouldn't be able to do that._ "…Yeah. Other than those things," he almost whispered back.

"Hmm…" His lip disappeared behind his teeth as he considered his response. "I guess," he started, then stopped for a moment more. "I guess…well, not really falling," he ventured, "although maybe I should be, but…stopping." He thought for a second more, then settled his answer with a firm nod. "Stopping. That's what I'm afraid of."

"…Not falling, huh?"

"No. Falling never hurt anyone." His gaze broke away from Bruce's suddenly, turning towards the floor as he swallowed heavily. "…It's the hitting the ground that does that. The…the stopping." _Smack-thud. Smack-thud._ He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a second to empty his head of the sound of two bodies colliding with the dirt.

_…That's a hell of an understanding of physics for an eight-year-old to have,_ the billionaire was impressed. _The reason behind his knowledge is…well...maybe he knew that before last weekend,_ he hoped. _The point is, he's picked up on something that some adults never learn._ "…Yeah," he breathed. "I see what you mean. It's a good fear, Dick." _…Shit, I think __I__ might be a little afraid of it, now that you've brought it up._

He looked back up. "…It is? How? I thought…isn't it better to have no fear?"

Now it was Bruce's turn to wear a pensive expression. "…I don't know," he answered finally. "Fear can be good. It can keep you from doing foolish things. Hundreds of thousands of years of inherited fear is what informs your gut instinct. Truly having _no_ fear at all would probably be very, very dangerous."

"Or too much fear?"

"Or too much fear," he agreed. "Too much fear, fear that you can't control, irrational fears…those can be just as bad as not having enough real fear."

Neither spoke for a minute. "I wonder…" Dick trailed off.

"What?"

"Well…isn't it irrational to fear the past?"

He didn't have to ask for clarification to know that the boy was referring to their respective nightmares. "…I don't think it is," he opined. "Fear is tied to pain. It goes back to survival instinct; we're afraid of things that could hurt us. If the memory of something still hurts us even though the event itself has passed, then I think it's perfectly rational to continue fearing it, to an extent. The key," he advised, "is figuring out how to control that fear, and maybe even turn it to our advantage." _…Not that I've ever really managed to do that,_ he added wryly in his head. _But we teach best what we need to learn most._

"How do you _do_ that, though?" came a desperate, inevitable plea.

"I…" _I don't know,_ he bit back. _No, I can't say that, if I admit that I've never done it, even with twenty years of practice, what kind of hope does that leave him with?_ "It's not something that can really be explained, kiddo," he said apologetically. "It's like what you said about putting your face under water; you're afraid of it, at least a little bit, or you wouldn't dislike it so much. But you can do it when you really want to. It's…it's like that." _It's not like that at all. Not with the nightmares. Not when you aren't fearing what might happen, but rather reliving what already has. But if the analogy helps you, that's good enough for me._

"…I don't think it is. Not…not really." Dick stared at him. "It's not the same kind of fear." He saw the billionaire gulp. "…Is it?"

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "No. You're right. It really isn't. But-" _But I didn't want you to figure that out, and I don't know what else to say._

"It's okay," he forgave him immediately. "I know you were just trying to help. And…well, it did, a little. Talking." His fingers spread along the spine of the book he still cradled, tracing the embossed title. "No one else would have talked to me like that, at least I don't think."

"No one else understands."

"Right."

For another long moment, neither spoke. "…Come on," the billionaire said eventually, gesturing for the boy to follow him as he stood. "Let's head upstairs." _By the time we get set up, the meteor shower should be going full force,_ he thought, _and we could both use a distraction after the last few minutes. _

"But-" the boy objected. "…I don't have to go to bed already, do I?" he asked, the fear they had just discussed looming in his eyes.

_Oof. Not with that look, you don't. _"No," he shook his head. "I've got a surprise for you."

"…You do? What is it?"

"A surprise," he insisted, heading for the door. "Which it won't be anymore if I tell you what it is. Now come on, there's a time limit on this surprise. We don't want to miss it." He was exaggerating – the meteor shower would be going on all night – but Dick didn't know that. _And he'll have to go to bed eventually, so it wasn't really a lie. I didn't get any work done last night on Randall; I have to start investigating her tonight. I can't do that if he stays up until two or three, not when I have to go to the office tomorrow. I already missed half of Thursday and all of Friday, I can't skip Monday, too._

"…Is that what I think it is?" the child asked as they stood at the entrance to a small, dusky room two stories above the study.

"That depends on what you think it is," Bruce smirked slightly.

"It looks like a telescope."

"And that's exactly what it is." He paused. "…There's a meteor shower tonight."

Platter-wide eyes turned up towards him. "Do you think…I mean, could we watch it? Like…with the telescope?"

"Would you like to?"

"Yes, please!" he yipped.

"Okay. But you'll have to help me set it up."

Dick hesitated. _…I don't want to break anything._ "I've never done anything like that before," he warned.

"That's okay. It's been a long time for me, too," the billionaire stated. "Sounds like we'll have to figure it out together."

"…I think we can probably do that. But…" the boy's eyebrows knit, "how do we see the sky? We're inside, and there aren't any windows in here."

"There's a secret to that." Leading the way over to a specialized switch plate on the opposite wall, Bruce indicated a knob. "Turn that. Slowly," he added.

He obeyed, turning with a quizzical look when a jet of cool air intruded on the room. "This opens the _whole roof_?" he boggled.

"Over this room, it does. Now," he went on, his concern shifting when he saw him shiver slightly, "it might get chilly in here. If you get cold, I want you to tell me, okay? I mean that, you don't want to get sick all over again."

"Okay," he concurred. "I'll tell you if I get cold."

"I imagine this will help ward that off for a little while, at least," Alfred's voice cut in as he entered bearing a tray. "Hot chocolate and coffee, as requested."

"A meteor shower _and_ hot chocolate?" the child almost grinned. "That's a good surprise."

"I thought so."

Bruce's half-memories were enough to get them set up before more than a few flashes of light tore across the sky overhead. They puttered around with the telescope for a while, Dick finally taking over the magnifier's controls himself once he was confident that he wouldn't break anything. "This is _so cool_," he whispered, zooming in slowly. "You can see _everything…_I didn't even know some of those stars were _there_!"

Sipping his coffee and more or less ignoring the meteor shower in favor of watching the boy, the billionaire slipped into a memory of a night not unlike this one, only set in fall rather than spring. The telescope had been new then, a more powerful model than the one that had previously inhabited the room, purchased by his mother for his father as an early anniversary gift calculated to encourage her husband's recent burgeoning interest in astronomy. Thomas, never one to close his then five-year-old son out of the few waking hours he had to spend at home, gave him the first peek through the apparatus.

"What do you see up there?" he inquired, arms crossed as he observed the boy from a few feet away.

"…It's bigger than it looks."

"Is it? How much bigger?" he teased, grinning over at his wife. She covered her smile with one hand, complicit in his jesting.

"Um…a _lot_."

Thomas chuckled. "Yeah, you're right about that, chum," he whispered. "It's a lot bigger than it looks. So big, our minds can't even grasp it."

"…D'you think there are aliens?" the young Bruce inquired, pulling back to look at his father.

The physician gave his offspring a frank look. "Do _you_ think there are aliens?"

"…Well, if it's that big," he shrugged.

"Playing the odds," the man ruffled his hair. "I like it. Now, off to bed. It's late, and you have school tomorrow."

"School's _boring_. This is interesting," he stated, turning back to look at the stars once more.

He let him go for a few minutes more before he scooped him up unannounced. "Okay, bedtime for real now."

"Daaad…" _…I never get to see you. How come the one night you're not on call and you have a neat new toy is the night I have to go to bed early?_

"Don't argue. If you're good," he promised, "we'll look through it some more this weekend."

"…Really?" Even at five, Bruce had already learned that his father, despite all the good intentions in the world, was too dedicated to his work to let his family life interfere more than occasionally. _I won't be like that when I grow up,_ he swore as he was handed off to his mother.

"Really," Thomas nodded, kissing his fingertip and pressing it against the end of the boy's nose. "Now be good, okay? You know Alfred will tell me if you aren't."

"I know," he huffed. "…Night, daddy."

The ghosts of memory faded from the room as Dick stepped back from the telescope. "It's so big up there," he breathed, coming over to the table for his hot chocolate. "It's like, even if you had a telescope that could zoom in forever and ever, you'd never run out of new things to see."

"…What do you think about that?" the billionaire asked, trying to buy time to stabilize himself after his trip into the past.

"I think it makes everything seem really tiny and insignificant," he answered slowly. "But…that just makes it all seem even more important, you know?"

_Tiny, important things, _Bruce nodded. _Yeah. I get that._

"It even kind of makes your house feel less ginormous."

He smirked. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"…Maybe a little bit less scary, too, huh?"

"Yeah…" he admitted, blushing again. "Even though…well, it's still a little scary. But you keep showing me all this really cool stuff, so I guess it'll probably keep getting better, right?"

"It should." _I hope so._

They watched meteors whiz by for another half an hour before Alfred reappeared to retrieve their empty mugs and remind them of the hour. Dick didn't complain about his bedtime, but his sudden pallor and the longing glance he cast upwards as the butler began to close the roof spoke volumes. Back down on the second floor, he changed slowly into pajamas, brushed his teeth so thoroughly a hygienist would have thought he went a little overboard, and dragged his feet into the bedroom. "…Will you read to me?" he asked, spotting Bruce staring out the window.

"Sure," the billionaire agreed. "…Where's the book?"

"Oh," the boy's shoulder slumped. "I left it in the study when we went up to the telescope. I could go get it," he offered, preparing to run out the door.

"Don't," the single word stopped him in his tracks. "I have a different idea that might help you go to sleep. Here, climb in and I'll tell you."

"…Okay," he said uneasily, sliding beneath the heavy quilt that had awaited him since morning. A pillow went under his head, Elinor went under his arm, and Bruce's hands reached around him, tucking him in securely. He yawned. _…I didn't know I was that tired,_ he allowed, _but that still doesn't mean I want to go to sleep._ "What's the idea?"

"Well, we know that thinking about the past is…painful. Right?" he asked needlessly.

"…Right."

"But what if we think about the future instead?"

"It's still painful," Dick pointed out. "Because…because they aren't in it."

He spluttered for a second. _He's right. Shit._ "Okay, true," he acknowledged. "But don't think about the general future. Think about one thing from the future. For instance…" He searched wildly for a second. "For instance, think about what might happen when you come see me at my office for lunch tomorrow."

The boy sat upright in bed. "…Wait, really? I really get to come see you in your office?" he asked.

"You do. Alfred's going to bring you to see me."

"But…that means you have to work tomorrow," he said sadly. "All day."

The man perched on the edge of the mattress winced internally. "…Yeah, I do. But like I said, you'll get to see me in the middle of it. And I have a pretty good view of the city from my office. You'll like it."

"…Sure," he nodded, dropping back down. "So…since you have to go to work tomorrow…um…would you lay with me until I fall asleep? I know you probably have to go after that," he tacked on, "but…just until I'm sleeping? Please?"

_I need to go downstairs and get started. But…_ But those terrified, begging eyes were boring into him, and there was no way he could refuse a look that he himself had worn on so many occasions but never received a good answer for. "…You bet I will. And maybe if you need me tonight you won't be too afraid to come find me or Alfred, now that the house is a bit, uh, smaller in comparison." _That was definitely an unexpected side effect, but I'll take it._ "What do you think?"

"I…maybe. Is…is that okay? Maybe? I don't know," he apologized.

"It's okay," Bruce soothed, lying down on top of the covers beside him and draping an arm across him. "Worst case scenario, I'll find you. All right?"

…_Well, he technically did it once before,_ Dick considered. _Twice, if you count the Center, which I kind of do since I'm not sure the mean lady was supposed to put me there._ _So…okay. I can buy you finding me if I need you._ "…Okay," he sighed, snuggling in. "…G'night, Bruce."

"Good night, kiddo," the billionaire whispered back. "Meteor showers and office lunches. Think about happy things." _I don't know if it will work, but it's worth a try._

"Meteor lunches…" came a sleepy mumble.

In the semi-dark, Bruce squeezed him. _Meteor lunches,_ he bit back a smile. _…Whatever works, I suppose._

**Author's Note: Just a quick FYI, tomorrow's chapter may be a bit late, as I have an engagement to go to this evening and will have limited writing time. Happy reading!**


	26. Chapter 26

"Mr. Wayne," Cynthia sighed when he stepped off of the elevator the next morning. "You made it through the gauntlet."

"…Don't those vultures need a permit to stand around like that in public spaces?" he grumbled as he approached her desk. Anticipating the presence of media at his office, he'd had the forethought to give himself extra time, but it hadn't quite been enough to keep him from running late. "They're all but blocking the entrance to the garage. It took me five minutes to get through without hitting anyone." The temptation to bump into them purposefully had been strong, especially when one of the cameramen all but climbed onto the hood of the car to snap a shot of him through the windshield. He'd restrained himself, but barely. _Wouldn't that make a great headline; 'Fit guardian? Bruce Wayne files adoption papers, assaults cameraman in same day.' _

"I know. It's all anyone can talk about this morning. The email server's gone down twice already with overloads. And look at this," she turned her monitor to show him the webpage of one of the bigger Gotham papers. There, front and center, was the picture taken by the man who had leaned over his front bumper a few minutes earlier.

_That was literally __just__ taken!_ he cursed silently. "…Damn technology," he muttered. "I'm guessing from the fact that I don't have a flock of people at my office door that security is doing their job, at least."

"One got in early this morning," she shared, "before I was here. She was waiting around for you with some bull story about how she was on charity business. It was a terrible disguise, I could see the notepad sticking out of her purse." She rolled her eyes. "She won't be coming back. I had her trespassed. Mr. Fox is waiting for you for your weekly meeting, though."

"Good." He paused, reading the excitement she was holding back. _…I might as well get used to it,_ he sighed to himself. "…Well, go ahead," he allowed finally, defeated.

A broad smile brightened her face. "Congratulations! I knew there was a soft spot _somewhere_ under that all-business exterior," she teased. "…I'll bet he's a total sweetheart, isn't he?"

_Cynthia, you have no idea._ "You can find out for yourself in a few hours," he rapped his knuckles on her desk and headed for the handsome double doors that led to his office. "Alfred's bringing him up for lunch." Her squeal followed him until the soundproofing shut it out. _Oh, god, is everyone today going to be like that?_ he moaned silently. _…There's a fundraiser this weekend. __That's__ going to be hell. Fuck me…_

"Well, if it isn't the man of the hour himself," Lucius turned around in his chair with a pleased look.

_Oh, Christ, you too? _"…One second," he held up a finger before moving to his desk. Sitting, he pulled a bottle of water out of his refrigerated drawer, a prescription-grade aspirin appearing from another compartment a moment later. He popped the pill, chased it with a quarter of the water, and then lowered his head to find a cigar being held out. "Uh…you know I don't smoke, Lucius. In fact," he narrowed his eyes, "neither do _you_."

"Only on special occasions," Wayne Enterprises' Chief Financial Officer agreed. "And this is certainly one of those. I don't care if it's a birth, an adoption, or just somebody leaving a baby on the doorstep; any time a child comes into a family, it's cause to celebrate in my book."

Realizing that the other man wasn't going to be shaken off, Bruce accepted the cheroot. Lucius produced a book of matches and insisted on lighting it for him before firing up his own. "…Now if we're lucky," he commented as he settled back in his chair, "we won't set off the fire alarms."

"Others have smoked in here before," the billionaire shook his head. "It wasn't a problem then. Here," he set a cut-crystal ashtray, kept for those very occasions when business contacts asked if they could indulge during meetings, on the desk between them.

"…So," the older man ventured after a short silence. "Everybody knows the basics, or at least what every news source and hack society blogger has been screaming since yesterday morning. Which, to be fair, is probably fifty percent inaccurate. But since we've got time," he grinned, "tell me about him."

Bruce sighed, and was quiet for a long moment. For all that he maintained a necessary distance from Lucius, he was comfortable discussing most personal issues with him. The problem wasn't that he didn't _want_ to talk about Dick; it was simply that he wasn't sure where to start. "He's…he's something else," he started lamely.

"He must be. It isn't every day that a child raised in the circus ends up being offered a home by a billionaire." He paused, tapping off a bit of residue from his cigar. "…It's very Hollywood, Bruce. That's what has people riled up. I'd bet that a fair number of society ladies and their mothers have been holding whispered conversations since the news broke."

"To what end?" the billionaire wondered aloud.

"Well, their potential use-value with one of the wealthiest men in the country just plummeted. We both know that a lot of upper-crust marriages are still more about politics and power plays than passion, but they're still rooted in basic human biology. Rich men need heirs, and for all that this is the twenty-first century there are plenty of members of both sexes who don't think a woman is good for a whole lot more than bringing progeny into the world. If you can just go out and scoop up a son courtesy of social services, though, what good are those women to you? I say all of that, of course, with the caveat that none of it happens to be my personal opinion. It's just an observation."

"…And not a bad one, to be fair." He pondered what had been said for a moment. "So essentially, I've just hurt my own stock value, at least in the social world."

"I suppose that depends on the woman in question. If she's looking for love, or even just to spend as much of your money on her own interests as possible, then no. If she's looking to make sure her children inherit said money, though, you probably just shot yourself in the foot. Assuming, of course," Lucius clarified, "that you're planning on making the boy your heir. But that's up to you."

"…I hadn't really gotten that far in my thinking." Now that he stopped and considered it, though, it seemed like an absurd question; why _wouldn't_ he make Dick his heir? The only other person he really had to leave everything to was Alfred, and that was assuming that the butler outlived him.

"There's no rush," the older man assured him.

"…Jesus, Lucius, I haven't even started any of the legal stuff that will have to be completed," Bruce realized slowly. _There's been so much going on since Thursday..._ "Alfred's taking the adoption paperwork in today, so that should be finished up pretty quickly, I hope, but…I don't know how any of this works. If something happens to me after I'm granted permanent custody, does he go straight to Alfred, or does he have to go back through the system? No," he shook his head forcefully, his face contorting, "he's _not_ going back through the system. But how do I make sure of that?"

"I have no idea," Lucius shook his head. "…But some friends of mine had to deal with the family courts a couple of years back, when they were working on getting custody of their granddaughter. I'll see if they would recommend their attorney, and pass the name along if it sounds like someone who might be able to help you. I know you're a hands-on person, but it's probably not a good idea for you to try and juggle this stuff yourself. Leave it to a professional." He smiled knowingly. "If you can manage."

"Hey, I leave most of the money stuff to you, don't I?"

"Sure, except when you spend all weekend going over potentials reports, which I know you did."

"Very little of it, actually," he confessed. "…Much less than I had planned."

"Kids will do that to a person. But that's okay; mine are all grown up now, so when I heard what was going on I could afford to spend the time combing back through them all again. Don't feel bad about spending your weekend in more important pursuits; I can fill in any gaps for you."

Bruce considered him for a moment. "…You know, Lucius, I thought you might be more hesitant about this."

"…About the reports, or the boy?"

"About the boy. About Dick. I'm…I'm not exactly parent material."

"Bruce, having a talent for making money might carry a subtle stigma in our society, but it doesn't disqualify you from being a good person. Neither does bouncing from woman to woman. If you honestly care about this boy – Dick – and you're willing to spend time with him and treat him with respect, then you'll be doing a lot better than plenty of people who call themselves parents without ever bothering to examine whether or not they deserve that title. Besides," he went on, "if I know you at all – and I believe I have a few insights that most others don't – then I know that you didn't just wake up the other morning and think 'you know what would be fun? Adopting a kid.' You see children who need homes regularly as part of your charity work, and you've never once seemed interested in taking any of them home. No, Bruce, I think you agonized about this. At least I _hope_ that's why you were so distracted in our last meeting," he sent him an understanding smile.

"…You're not wrong," he stared down at his smoldering cigar.

"Mind you, there are going to be plenty of people who think you're crazy for taking in a kid, and probably more than a few who think it's criminal that someone with your reputation would be allowed to do so. But the people who work closely with you," he shook his head, "we know you're up to the task. Hell, when was the last time something you attempted _failed_, after all?"

"The Comstock Mining Syndicate takeover, two years ago."

"…That was a rhetorical question," he chuckled slightly.

"I know. But it _was_ the last time one of my business ideas fell through."

"…There's no such thing as a perfect parent, Bruce, the same as there's no such thing as a perfect businessman. Take it from someone who is very much less than perfect in both realms. You're going to make mistakes. You're going to screw up. But that's good."

The billionaire gave him a critical look. "Excuse me?"

"It's good. It lets kids know that it's okay when _they_ screw up, and shows them how to get back on their feet, dust themselves off, and try again. Even bad examples are still examples, after all."

"…Yeah, I guess you have a point there." _After all, aren't I treating Dick differently than Alfred treated me specifically __because__ I saw how poorly his methods worked? Of course it doesn't hurt anything that part of me just plain __wants__ to be affectionate with him…what was it with Alfred, though, really? He's never been a touchy-feely type of person, but I always chalked that up to his sense of place in the house. Still, you would think some of that would have fallen away when it became just him and I…I can't imagine how he could have not realized that a hug would have gone a long way. I mean, look at Dick; even after only a couple of days of really being around him, I can just __tell__ when he needs physical contact. It's strange, how things turned out…I know Alfred tried, I __know__ he did, but how could he not see that in me?_

"Bruce?"

He blinked. "…Huh?" Lucius gestured towards the precariously balanced half-inch of ash on the end of his cigar. "Oh." He tapped it off. "You were saying?" _Shit. I wandered off in the middle of what's supposed to be a business meeting again. This is absurd. I __can't__ keep doing that._

"I guess my point is, try not to take the things people who don't know you are going to say to heart. I know you already know that, but it's a whole different ballgame when someone's criticizing your parenting rather than your business ethics. Having been hit with both kinds of blame before, I can guarantee you that the idea of not doing right by your child is a thousand times more devastating than the thought of letting down anyone else in the world. That doesn't mean that you can always avoid putting something else before them; all it means is that it hurts a hell of a lot more when you do."

"Yeah…" he trailed off, thinking about earlier that morning. _…I wish I could stay home with you again today, kiddo,_ he'd lamented as he'd rested his hand gently on the still-sleeping boy's undamaged cheek. _But at least maybe in my room you won't have any more nightmares._ As he'd expected would be the case, Dick had been slumped against his door again when he returned from patrol, passed out but twitching in the throes of his second bad dream of the night. Bruce hadn't even bothered to wake him, but had instead just picked him up and carried him inside. The moment his arms had closed around him, the slight figure had calmed, muscles relaxing and breathing evening out as the dream was chased off. He'd slept straight through until dawn after that – at least, if he _had_ woken it hadn't been enough to stir Bruce from his own slumber – and had merely frowned vaguely when he was left alone in the bed.

Despite the silent stillness under the covers, the billionaire had felt like a traitor when he'd snuck out into the hallway; hadn't they made a deal, after all, to keep one another's nightmares at bay? How many times had he already broken that pledge, first to go out on patrol – although admittedly that was still technically an attempt to fight off the bad dreams, since he was chasing the person who had caused them – and now to go to the office?

"Ah…Bruce?"

"Shit," he muttered, stubbing out the cigar end. "…Sorry, Lucius."

"Don't apologize. Just tell me when I get to meet this boy who apparently has the power to make you zone out during a projections week."

"…In about two hours, if you'd like," he glanced at his watch. "Alfred's dropping him off here while he runs the adoption forms to CPS. I didn't see any reason to expose him to the media more than necessary," he half-lied. "Getting in here is going to be bad enough. Actually…" He pulled out his phone and sent the butler a quick text, advising him of the situation. _There. At least now he'll know to use one of the cars with a tint permit. If I find out some asshole like that one who climbed onto my hood gives Dick a scare…_

"Well in the meantime, maybe we ought to actually talk about some of these figures," Lucius suggested, reaching for his briefcase after putting out his own smoke. "…Unless there was something else you wanted to discuss?"

_I just wish I knew when this would all be settled,_ Bruce sighed to himself. _The legalities, the financials, the damn press coverage…it needs to just all go away._ _But_, he reflected as he straightened in his chair, _that's not likely to happen any time soon, and for now there's business to be taken care of._ _I'll see him in a couple of hours, and he's with Alfred until then. He's fine._

"…I might have a piece of advice that you'll find helpful," the other man said a few minutes later when it was clear that the CEO was having issues turning fully to the topic at hand.

"What's that?" _I'll take anything right now._

"It's a little trick I used when I wanted to be home, but had business to conduct," he explained. "Try looking at this as building up his inheritance, assuming that's your plan. It feeds your want to think about him, and also makes you focus on the numbers."

The billionaire narrowed his eyes. _Is that why you're so damn good at this, Lucius?_ he wondered. _Because you go into deals with that mindset? That's…that's a hell of an idea. _"I'll try that," he nodded gratefully, flipping open a report. "…Let's start with Tech." _After all, if he's into math as much as he seems to be, that will probably be where his interest lies when he gets older._ "I think they can do better than a half a percent increase next quarter."

"Agreed. They can take on more than they seem to think they can." _…Kind of like you, Bruce, _he didn't add, confident that the younger man would catch the reference without having it spelled out for him. _They just need a little encouragement to make them realize it. _


	27. Chapter 27

Dick woke with a distant turmoil in the back of his mind to find himself alone under the covers. "…Bruce?" he queried hopefully. There was no answer. _…Okay. So…I'm in his room, but he's not here. _Rubbing his eyes, he recalled the events of the night before. _I fell asleep…then I had,_ he swallowed, squeezing Elinor tightly, _the dream, and then I went to wait by Bruce's door again. Then I woke up here, so...he must have moved me inside when he came to bed._ His eyes fell on the bedside clock. _It's kind of early still…maybe he's just downstairs? Maybe he hasn't left to go to his office yet?_

His feet were padding across the floor almost before he finished the thought. Only when his fingers brushed the cool doorknob did he pause. _…I'm going to have to go down there by myself. _It had been one thing to scamper across the broad upstairs hallway in order to curl up in the safe nook of the billionaire's bedroom door, but the stairs, the entry, and then a search of the rooms he'd been shown was something else entirely. _And what if he's not in any of those places? This is a really, really big house, he could be __anywhere__. I know he said that he's normally in his study or the den when he's home, but…what's the point of the rest of the house if they never, ever go into it? _He shuffled his feet, glancing back at the bed. _I really want to see him, though. I'll bet Alfred will know where he is. Then I only have to go to the kitchen._

It took him a moment more, but he finally worked up the courage to open the door. He turned towards the stairs immediately, trying to ignore the fact that the corridor stretched for a long distance behind him before ending in a T. _Too much empty space,_ he shuddered. _You could put so many more people in here, and everyone would still have lots of room…_

Things got no better when he attained the top of the staircase; for a second, in fact, it was twice as bad, with the passageway looming at his back and the cavernous foyer gaping in front of him. _…It's like a giant mouth,_ he panicked for an instant. _The doors are the lips, the stairs are the tongue, and the chandelier is like teeth, just…just hanging there, all glinty and stuff…like the house could eat you up. _With a faint squeak, he hurried down and dashed across the marble, his bare toes curling against the cold stone. He kept up his pace until he reached the door he remembered leading into the kitchen, where he came to a stop. _…I'll bet I'm not supposed to run inside. _With his feet freezing, he peeked inside. "…Alfred?"

No answer.

_Well…_ He turned around and considered the distance he'd come. _I don't want to go back across the front again,_ he decided. _I guess I could wait for him. It's empty in here, too, but at least it isn't so big._ With that in mind, he ventured slowly forward, peering around. He hadn't so much as glanced into the kitchen since the few seconds that Bruce had spent introducing him to it, and now that he'd grown a bit more accustomed to the overall scale of the manor it was slightly less foreboding than he'd felt at first. _I didn't notice that before,_ he frowned, spotting a pair of chairs tucked in against a round café-style table in one corner. _I guess maybe that's where Alfred sits, since he never seems to eat when Bruce and I do. _He wandered over to find that one of the seats was, indeed, showing more wear than the other. _Huh._

Now that it was clear that this was a space in which time really was spent by someone, he relaxed slightly. Setting Elinor down on the less-used chair, he continued to explore. A window overlooked the sprawling back lawn; a pretty serving cart stood nearby, supporting a set of silver trays. There were two doors in the long wall opposite of where he had come in, but he opened neither, moving past them instead to wander behind the island. _…Mom would have liked this kitchen,_ he thought wistfully, touching one of the heavy wrought iron drawer pulls. _It's pretty. No wonder Alfred makes such good food, if he has a place like this to do it in._

As he approached the oven, it let out a long beep. "Gah!" _…Oh. It must have a timer,_ he frowned. _But if Alfred not here to take whatever's in there out…_ He waited another minute, glancing between the various entrances in the hopes that the butler would appear. _It's going to burn, whatever it is,_ he realized, and proceeded to pull the oven open carefully. The scent of fresh biscuits overwhelmed his empty stomach. _Ooohh…I hope those are for breakfast. Or lunch. Or…I just hope I get to eat one of these, they smell amazing._

Spotting a dishtowel beside the sink, he snagged it and draped it over his palms the way he'd seen his mother do a thousand times. _Okay, I guess I'll just put it on the stove,_ he judged. _Got to keep it flat…I don't want any of them to fall on the floor…_ It was difficult, raising the cookie sheet and its precious cargo high enough to set it on the burners without tilting it, but finally he completed his task. _Now to just close the door…_

"Master Dick, what on earth!"

The sudden outburst caught him completely off guard. He jumped, surprised, and the back of his hand brushed hot metal. Gasping, he pulled away and backed up until he bumped into the island. "I'm sorry!"

Alfred swept around the counter, shut the oven, and turned to face him. "Let me see, young sir," he coaxed, his voice far less angry than Dick was expecting after the shocked exhalation of a moment earlier. _I'm glad to see you've become comfortable enough to brave the house on your own, _he thought as the angry red line running along the top of one knuckle was revealed, _but what could possibly have possessed you, playing with the range like that?_ "That's not too bad, after all," he turned the limb from side to side, examining the light damage. "Let's just run it under some cold water, shall we?"

"Okay," the boy agreed, voice and eyes both a little teary. He didn't object when the Englishman lifted him onto the counter, instead just watching as the faucet was turned on and the temperature tested. Flinching slightly as his hand was led into the flow, he bit his lip. "…I didn't mean to do anything wrong," he whispered.

"You've done nothing wrong, Master Dick," the butler replied softly. _I must have sounded harsh when I first saw him,_ he thought regretfully. "But what were you thinking?"

"…The timer went off," he answered contritely. "And…well, I didn't want whatever you were making to burn, and you weren't back yet, so…so I pulled it out for you." He pointed towards the stove with his uninjured arm. "They…they smell really good."

"…So you did," Alfred conceded as he glanced over his shoulder and found that the child had, indeed, removed the biscuits he'd been baking from the oven. _…He seems to have been doing perfectly fine until I startled him, to be fair. Well, at least the injury is minor. _"Was it my sudden coming in that made you hurt your hand?" he asked.

"Um…" Dick looked away. _Yes? But…I mean, it really wasn't your fault. _"It was just an accident," he shrugged.

"While it's very kind of you to try and minimize my role in your being hurt," the man said as he dabbed the burned hand dry, "I am sorry to have come upon you without warning like that. I wasn't expecting you in the kitchen."

"I…I came down cause I thought maybe Bruce hadn't left yet." He raised damp, hopeful eyes to the butler. "Is he still here?"

_Oh, you precious child. I know you're still frightened of the house, yet you braved it just to see him. _"I'm afraid he left a short while ago, young sir. You likely just missed him." _Now why would I tell him such a thing? _he chastised himself immediately._ Really, as if he hasn't already had enough pain to start his day with…_

"…Oh," Dick breathed, letting his burned hand fall into his lap. "Okay."

"You'll be reunited in a few hours," he tried to buck up the boy's spirits. "For the moment, however, would you like to sample the biscuits you saved? I made them for tonight, but I daresay you've earned one."

"…I don't think I really saved them. You would have made it in time."

"Ah, but you didn't know that, and that's the essential point. It was a thoughtful gesture, and I appreciate it," Alfred told him seriously. "Now, I believe we have both strawberry and grape preserves to choose from, as well as marmalade. What would you like?"

"Um…strawberry? Please?"

"Of course," he inclined his head. "…Why don't you have a seat at the table in the corner? You're welcome to eat there, or at the breakfast bar, rather than sitting in the dining room all by yourself."

"Sure!" _It's way better to eat with somebody else around, instead of by yourself,_ he thought as he jumped down from the counter and moved to the chair he'd left Elinor on. As he waited, he peered at the narrow strip of shiny skin the oven rack had graced him with. The initial pain had fled rapidly under the cold water, leaving behind a dull, tingly ache. _I guess it's not so bad. It just hurt at first._ "…Do you have any aloe?" he asked as Alfred carried over a warm biscuit and a bowl of applesauce. _Mom always used aloe when we got rope burns from setting up…regular burns are kind of the same thing, I think, so maybe it will work on this, too._

"We most certainly do," he verified. "We'll put a little on once you've eaten. And a bit more bruise cream, as well, I think," he deemed.

"…Does it still look really bad?" Dick asked.

"The color is much better, but you still have some swelling." _Which is exactly the sort of thing we want to send you into Master Wayne's office with,_ he grimaced. "But overall it's much less noticeable. Be careful with your biscuit, it's still hot."

"I will be," he promised, poking at it experimentally before starting on his applesauce. "…You remembered that I like cinnamon," he gave the butler a little smile after his first bite.

"I did indeed," he nodded. "…Do you think you can manage an egg as well this morning, or will that fill you up?" _Please say you can eat more, Dr. Thompkins indicated that you really do need to put on a little weight._

"…This is a lot of applesauce. I think I have plenty."

_Damn. I should have just served it to him, rather than asking._ "Very well. Be certain to tell me if things prove otherwise, hmm?" _I'll have to remember that. Don't inquire, simply fill his plate._

"I will."

"Excellent. Now, after you've finished," he moved back behind the counter to take care of the remaining biscuits, "you'll want to bathe and get dressed so that you're ready when it's time to leave." _He should be fine to complete that on his own; he did so yesterday, after all._

"Can I come back down and hang out with you after that?"

"…You may, but I warn you that my morning routine isn't likely to contain much that will be of interest to you."

"Well, _you're_ interesting, so…" he shrugged. "But I don't want to get in your way."

"…You shan't, young sir." _'You're interesting,' and in such a plainly honest tone? I wonder if you realize when you're turning on the charm. Of course, from what I've seen thus far it may be something you simply never turn off…_

A couple of hours later, Alfred had concluded that the latter was the case. For all that he had been meeting his needs all weekend, he'd spent little time alone with the boy since Thursday. _And that was hardly an ideal situation,_ he considered as he moved the booster seat into one of several vehicles that possessed a special permit for tinted windows. _This morning, however…_ Dick had certainly livened up his daily chores, following him around and asking the occasional polite question. Just before they left the house, the butler led him down a side hall to show him where the door to his own quarters was. "These are my rooms," he explained. "Do you think you can remember how to get here from your own, in case you need something late at night and Master Wayne is unavailable?"

"I think so," he nodded. _I don't know if I could do the entryway at night, though. It's scary enough in the daytime. But…where does Bruce go so often? He's been gone two nights in a row, and he must be gone a __lot__ if Alfred's showing me where his rooms are. _Sensing that the question might be nosy, he didn't voice it.

"…Ready, then, Master Dick?" the Englishman turned to ask in the garage a few minutes later.

"Yes, but…why are we taking this car?" the boy puzzled. "Is something wrong with the other one?"

_There's no point in lying to him. He's too bright for that to work for long, and if he knows what to expect he might not be as scared. _"No, but Master Wayne has informed me that there are some paparazzi hanging about outside his office. He would prefer that they be sent the signal right off that you are not to be followed about by them, and so he's asked that we use one of the privacy cars this morning."

"I don't really mind people with cameras," the boy shrugged. "You get used to it. Although it is annoying when they use flash while you're in mid-air. Kind of dangerous, too, but that's why you can't rely on just your eyesight when you're performing." He broke off, looking embarrassed. "…Sorry. That was probably really boring for you."

"Not in the least," the butler shook his head. "Having never lived in a circus or performed the sorts of aerial feats you are used to doing, I find it quite fascinating." _Besides, you need to be encouraged to relive those happy memories, while they're still fresh. It's the best way to cement them in your mind. The fact that you are so open with them already is a good sign._ "However, we do need to get on our way. Would you perhaps be willing to tell me a little more during our drive?"

"I don't really know what else to say," Dick admitted. "I just was thinking about the…what did you call them?"

"Paparazzi."

He mouthed it carefully, brows knit in concentration. "Paparazzi. Yeah. I just wanted you to know that I'm not going to freak out or anything if someone points a camera at me. I guess I should tell that to Bruce, too."

"This is likely to be a different experience than any you've had with photographers in the past," the Englishman advised as he climbed into the driver's seat. "Some of the individuals who have pursued Master Wayne in the past are quite vicious, and I imagine that they will be present today."

"…'Vicious'?"

"Yes. After…when Master Wayne was a bit younger than you," he amended, "we had to have security cameras added to the perimeter gate, and some sections were even given a mild electrical charge for a while when they were swarming especially thickly. We had several who managed to climb over anyway and approach the house, hiding in the brush to get their pictures." He shook his head. "…But I doubt they'll go to such lengths this time. It wouldn't be worth the risk, which is much greater now that Master Wayne is in a position to fight back, legally speaking. So long as you're on the manor grounds, you've no need to worry about them. All right?"

"Okay," Dick nodded, buckling his seatbelt. "…Can we go see Bruce now?"

"Absolutely," he agreed. _…Their attachment runs both ways,_ he thought happily, reflecting on the clear distaste his elder charge had shown for leaving the house that morning. As they pulled out of the garage and into a drizzle, his thoughts shifted back onto the waiting cameras. _I do hope it's doing this in town as well, so those vultures aren't __too__ comfortable while they wait to invade people's personal lives._

The only encounter they had on the way into Gotham was with a motorcycle that seemed to follow them for several miles before falling back. It may have been nothing, Alfred decided, or it may have been someone who saw the darkness of the windows and realized they wouldn't get a good shot. In either case, they had gone, and nothing else of note occurred until they were approaching the parking garage dedicated to Wayne Enterprises. "…Oh, for heaven's sake," he muttered when they were still three blocks away. _…I was wrong, apparently. This is far worse than any of the crowds that I recall from last time._

"What is it?" the child in the backseat craned his neck to see through the windshield. "…Oh." The sidewalk on either side of the vehicle entrance was completely packed with people; news vans lined both sides of the street, reporters and cameramen ducking in and out of them nonstop; and amongst the chaos a few police officers circulated, trying futilely to control the crowd.

Someone recognized the car from two blocks out, and the mass of bodies surged towards them. Alfred gunned the engine to get through the last pair of lights while they were still yellow, but the mass of people who swallowed up the car when he braked to turn into the garage forced him to come to almost a full stop. _Bloody vultures,_ he cursed, laying on the horn and keeping the vehicle rolling forward at a painfully slow pace. "…Are you all right back there, Master Dick?" he queried, not daring to take his eyes off of the wall of humanity they were pushing their way carefully through.

The noise outside rose in pitch as people began calling out questions uselessly. "Um…s-sure," the boy answered, trying not to look outside. _…What do these people __want__? _he fretted. _I'm just a kid, what are they so worked up about?_ Someone tried the handle to his door, drawing a short gasp from his throat.

"It's all right, we're locked in," the butler soothed. "And they can't see you, I promise. That's half of what has them so worked up right now. We'll be inside very soon." _Even if I have to start running them down to do it, I swear, we'll be inside soon,_ he set his jaw. _This is absurd. Why haven't the police broken this up?_

A burly man with a lens the length of Dick's forearm hanging from his neck suddenly bounced his fist against the hood. In response, Alfred revved the motor, foot pressing on the brake so that the action remained a threat rather than progressing to actual manslaughter. Most of the crowd jumped back; the photographer with a bent for intimidation, however, remained stolid, raising his camera and taking a completely useless picture of the windshield. Then he stepped away, and as if he'd uttered a magic word the driveway down into the building cleared.

The man at the security booth didn't even make them stop; having had plenty of time to verify that the incoming car's plates were on the list as belonging to Bruce Wayne, he simply waved them past. They wove through parked cars in a U-shape, doubling back and diving another level underground as they crossed beneath the road. "This is the executive parking garage," Alfred explained, hoping to calm the slightly trembling boy behind him with chatter. "The one across the street that we turned into was built specially for this building; there simply wasn't enough room for all of the employees when things really began to take off again a few years ago. Most of them park over there, but Master Wayne and his top-level executives – some of whom you may meet today – have spaces on this side." The guard at the second gate also waved them through, holding up his radio to indicate that the first man had called ahead.

"Th-that's kinda cool." _That was __insane__. What is __wrong__ with that man who punched the car? Who punches cars just to get a picture?! I know Bruce is rich, and probably pretty important, but can't they at least be nice about getting their pictures? It would probably get them farther._

They pulled into one of the several spots labeled with Bruce's name, and Alfred finally turned around to look at his younger charge. "…That was a bit scary, wasn't it?" he commiserated as he took in the boy's wide eyes.

"You were right," he whispered back. "That…that was _nothing_ like the people who used to take our pictures at the circus. Those people…what was with that one guy?"

"That…gentleman," the butler's lips tightened, "is quite possibly the most _insistent_ paparazzo in Gotham. His tactics are borderline illegal, but he gets away with it specifically because it's just that – borderline." _Considering what just occurred, he might have been less traumatized had I simply taken him with me to CPS,_ he mused. _But Master Wayne will be able to rid him of any fright he still has by the time we reach the top floor, I've no doubt._ "If you're all right to continue, young sir, you're expected upstairs."

"…Bruce is gonna be there, right?"

"Of course. He's the one who's expecting you, although as I mentioned you may also be introduced to a few of the other executives during this visit. No reason to be nervous," he saw him gulp. "Simply be polite, and you'll be fine."

"Um…are you coming up with me?" _What if there's someone in the elevator? What if there are more people like the ones outside, and I can't get away from them?_

"Yes, Master Dick," Alfred read his hesitancy. "I promise not to leave you until I've passed you along to Master Wayne. Is that acceptable?"

Dick gave a little sigh of relief. "That sounds good," he nodded gratefully. "Thank you."

"Not at all. Now," he cracked his door and prepared to exit the car, "I believe it's time for your debut."


	28. Chapter 28

"Oh, this is _bullshit_," Bruce swore, staring down towards the entrance to the parking garage. He and Lucius had wrapped up their discussion of second-quarter anticipated profits a few minutes earlier, and the billionaire was circling the perimeter of his office, monitoring his city through the floor to ceiling windows despite the presence of daylight.

"What is it?" the older man joined him. "…Looks like the crowd got larger since I came in," he noted, able to see the mass of people spilling into the street even from their height.

"It did. And I'd just _bet_ that's my car they're all over. I can't tell for sure from here, but it's about that time, and they weren't that agitated on my last pass around the room." He stalked back to his desk, bristling, and picked up the phone. _This is __not__ how I wanted his first visit to the office to start out,_ he growled silently as he dialed Jim Gordon's direct line. "…Commissioner? Bruce Wayne. Good morning to you, too." He paused. "Yes, and thanks for that, much appreciated. Speaking of the adoption, I've got a problem…Well, everyone with a camera and a line to a newspaper, legitimate or otherwise, is bunched up around the entrance to the WE parking garage. It took me five minutes to move through them all this morning, and now they've got my butler in the same predicament…Frankly, it's not even the inconvenience I'm worried about, although the level of aggression some of these people are showing was disturbing to _me_, so you can imagine what it would be like for a kid. They're completely blocking the sidewalk, and if a few more show up they'll be standing in the road…Yes, there are a couple of officers down there, I think, but they clearly aren't enough to control the situation…Would you? That would be wonderful. Thanks again, Commissioner. Of course, the Police Ball committee meeting in two weeks. I'll see you then. Goodbye."

"…Power like that is part of the reason those people are so rabid for everything to do with you, you know," Lucius commented from the window.

"Yes, but there's no point in _having_ that kind of sway if you're afraid to use it when you need to," Bruce rebutted. "It's like you said earlier; don't take what people say to heart."

The finance exec chuckled. "You're a tricky one, Bruce Wayne."

"It's a tricky world." 

"It is that," he nodded pensively. "…Are you going to meet him at the elevator? After an experience like the one he just had, I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"I was seriously considering it. Besides," he moved around his desk, "I'd better make sure that Cynthia doesn't drown him in honey."

"I'll stay here and wait, if that's all right. Unless you'd rather put things off, considering downstairs?"

"…No, I think he'll be all right," the billionaire stated after a moment's thought._ He's…he's a tough one._ "If he seems bothered, we'll keep it short."

"Completely understandable. I'll be here when you're ready."

"…Thanks, Lucius." As soon as he exited the office, his secretary's head shot up. "I'm going to meet him out here," he said, pausing at her desk. "Paparazzi are downstairs giving them hell."

Her mouth turned downwards. "Poor thing. He can't be used to that."

"I've got more police on the way. They'll clear it out."

"I hope so. It's going to be miserable trying to leave at the end of the day otherwise."

They didn't speak after that, Bruce pacing the reception area with his arms crossed while Cynthia turned back to her work. Finally there was a faint _ding_, and the coppery elevator doors slid open.

Dick had intended to stay by Alfred's side, but that was forgotten when he spotted the billionaire waiting for him. He bolted from the lift, not stopping until he was standing almost toe-to-toe with the man, and craned his neck upwards. "…Hi," he whispered, eyes wide. _That was scary. Can I have a hug, please?_ he begged silently.

_Ooh, I can guess what that look's for._ _Cynthia's right there staring at us, but…what the hell, she's going to think everything involving you is adorable from here on out regardless of what I do. Besides, I think a hug will make us __both__ feel better right now. _With that in mind, he crouched down immediately. "You okay, kiddo?" he asked. The boy shrugged. "…C'mere."

"…That was a little bit scary," a small voice brushed past his ear as they crashed together.

"Yeah, they bugged me this morning, too," he replied, one hand rising to cradle the back of his head. "But it should be much better by the time Alfred takes you home. There are more police coming to make them go away." _Or at least to keep them from swarming people's cars._

"…How long do I get to stay with you?" The thin arms around his neck tightened.

"We'll talk to Alfred about that, okay? At least an hour or so, though. We'll order some food."

"Okay."

Bruce took that as a sign that it was acceptable to push him back to arm's length. He held him there for a minute, examining his face. _The bruising looks better this morning. More importantly, you look less frightened. You were doing a good job of not showing it, though._ "…There's a couple of people I'd like you to meet," he informed him.

The boy nodded hesitantly. _I have to be really good right now, I don't want to embarrass him. Even if all I really want is another hug._ "Sure."

"Sure? Okay." _You still look awfully nervous, though. Here._ Before he stood, he enclosed one of the child's hands in his own. "Dick," he led him to the desk, "this is Cynthia, my secretary. She keeps out all the people I don't want to see. Cynthia, this is Dick."

"Hi, Cynthia," he gave her a bashful smile.

"Hi, sweetheart," she greeted. "Those news people weren't too mean to you, were they?"

"Um…the one who hit the car was a little surprising," he answered honestly.

Bruce started. "…Somebody _hit_ the car? While you were in it?"

"Oh…" he glanced back at Alfred. "Was I not supposed to say anything about that?"

"It's all right, young sir. I can't fault you for giving a truthful response," the butler replied. "Yes, Master Wayne. I believe it was Mr. Anaxas."

"Demetrios Anaxas," the billionaire muttered angrily, reviewing every other time he'd had an issue with the physically-inclined paparazzo. _I __hate__ that son of a bitch. He's the worst of all of them. _"Did he damage anything?" _Tell me he dented the car, or scratched the paint, or something. I'd love to have him arrested._

"It was merely an intimidation tactic. I saw no damage to the vehicle."

"Mm." _Damn. _He glowered for a moment, then frowned. "…Cynthia, what are you doing?"

She paused, leaning halfway over her desk to offer her new acquaintance a lollipop. "…What?"

"Do you just…_have_ those in your desk?"

"Well, yeah. Lots of people keep candy in their desk. Lollipops are good for break times," she defended. "And for visitors."

"…Can I have it, Bruce?" Dick asked eagerly.

"Sure, kiddo." _I know you won't be getting candy at the house, so…take all the lollipops Cynthia will give you._

"Thank you for asking first, Master Dick," Alfred pitched in from behind them.

The boy took it, thanked the giver, and then tucked it into his coat pocket. "I'll eat it after we have lunch," he told the man still gripping his hand.

"Sounds like a plan," he nodded.

"Here then," the secretary grabbed a second one from a drawer and held it out to her boss. "You should have one, too. It's grape, so…kind of sour. Matches your personality," she winked.

Dick giggled slightly; Bruce scowled. "Do you have that contract edited yet?" he queried testily.

"I do." Producing a thin sheaf of papers from a stack, she dropped the candy on top and handed it over. "Three days before you said it was due."

"And that," the billionaire sighed, "is why I let you get away with calling me sour."

"You wouldn't fire me for telling the truth. What kind of an example would that set?" she teased, smirking.

He gaped at her for a moment, then shook his head and tugged the boy towards his office. "Let's go, before she gives you any other ideas about how I treat my employees."

"Bye, Cynthia!" Dick called over his shoulder.

"Bye, sweetheart. See you later!" She caught Alfred's eye and mouthed a single word: _Adorable!_ A tiny uptick at the corners of his mouth showed his agreement as he passed.

As they entered, Lucius turned from the window. _…I'll be damned, Bruce, he even looks a fair bit like you. If I didn't know better…_

"Dick," the billionaire said as he led him deeper into the room, "this is Mr. Lucius Fox. He's the reason this company makes money. Lucius…this is Dick."

"Part of the reason we make money, maybe," the CFO came forward and dropped to the boy's level. "…But Bruce has a lot to do with that, too," he confided, offering his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Dick."

Following the cue he'd picked up on when his guardian used this new person's full name, Dick freed his fingers from Bruce's and shook, blushing slightly. "Hello, Mr. Fox," he answered. "It's nice to meet you, too."

…_Now I know Alfred hasn't had time to give him etiquette lessons. This is one polite little boy. _"Well, Dick, I hope you won't mind me being so forward on our first meeting, but how old are you exactly?" _It will be interesting to see if the papers got it right,_ he thought.

"I'm eight." _…I'll be nine in a few days,_ he almost added, but then bit it back. _I don't know if Bruce wants me to tell people stuff like that. He introduced Mr. Fox different than he did Leslie and Cynthia, so maybe he doesn't want as much told to him, especially when he was so worried about pictures and stuff._

"Eight. I remember being eight…" He looked pensive for a moment. _Small for your age, then. I wouldn't have guessed you were that old. _"That was long time ago, though," he tipped him a wink, drawing a little smile.

"…You don't look that old, Mr. Fox," he stated.

"Thank you," he replied, amused. _I don't look '__that__ old,' do I? _he chuckled to himself."I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I accidentally glance in a mirror. In the meantime, though," he straightened, "I'll leave you and Bruce alone so you can have your lunch and catch up on the morning. But I'm sure we'll see each other again soon, if that's all right with you?"

He nodded. "I'd like that." _He's nice. I still wonder why Bruce introduced him different, though._

"Bruce," the CFO clapped a hand down briefly on his shoulder as he passed. _…Nice kid. I'm curious as to who hit him; it obviously happened before this past weekend, but it must not have been something he went into the system with or the media would have been all over it. There are already cruel, and likely untrue, things flying around about his parentage. Then again, this is the same journalistic community that had him listed as being six – and I can see why someone might think that, he'd be a big but believable six – so who knows what else they got wrong or just plain excluded._ "I'll swing by again before the end of the day."

"That's fine, Lucius." _Making good impressions all over the place,_ he directed a small smile at the boy, who was staring towards the huge windows.

"Alfred."

"Mr. Fox," the butler inclined his head. A moment later the three of them were alone. _That all went much more smoothly than I feared it might. After downstairs, I wouldn't have blamed him in the least for being more timid than he turned out. Excellent recovery. Although I'm sure Master Wayne's presence was a large part of that…they do seem to have some calming magic with one another._

"…You want to go look out over the city?" the billionaire asked.

"Can we?!"

"You bet." They walked over to the glass wall. "…What do you think?"

"I've never seen a city like this from so high up before," Dick whispered in amazement, fingertips just grazing the clear panel in front of him as he stared out over the jumble of buildings and parks that stretched between downtown and the river. "…It's _huge_. And…and beautiful. But it looks so different from when we looked at it on the hill, after…after," he finished.

Bruce, too, gazed out over Gotham. "…Yeah," he said quietly, not having missed the little skip at the end of his sentence. _It isn't so pretty up close at night, I promise. You don't see the lights then; just the shadows._ A fresh mark on the hand hovering over the glass caught his eye, and he frowned. "What happened here?" he asked, kneeling and pulling the limb closer in order to see it.

"I burned it on the oven this morning," Dick informed him distractedly, still riveted to the view. "It's okay, it doesn't even hurt too much anymore. Alfred put aloe on it."

"What were you doing in the oven, kiddo?" _Right over his knuckle. Ouch. It might not hurt now, but wait until it really starts to tighten up…_

"He was helping me, sir," the butler jumped in. "I stepped out of the kitchen momentarily with biscuits in the oven, and when the timer went off the young master thought he would be of assistance by pulling them out so they wouldn't burn. He was doing very well until I inadvertently startled him. That was when the burn occurred."

"But it wasn't anyone's fault," the boy added quickly. "It was just an accident."

"And you're sure it doesn't hurt?"

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt nearly as bad as when Kevin punched me. Sorry," he tacked on as Bruce's face twisted guiltily for a second. "…But it doesn't."

"…Well, I'm glad it doesn't hurt. Alfred," he turned to him, "how long do you need?"

"I'll stop by CPS, and then I thought I'd go ahead and pick up a few things while I'm already out. Given the frenzy downstairs, it seems best if Master Dick stays with you until I've completed all of my errands. Will that be a problem? It shouldn't take me much more than two or three hours."

"What do you think, kiddo? You want to hang out up here for a little while?"

"…Can I keep looking out the window?"

"If you want to. Or," he tempted, "we could watch a movie."

"…With two or three hours, couldn't we do _both_?"

Bruce bit back a laugh. "Sure. Why not? My two o'clock meeting cancelled," he informed the butler, "so…no rush. I don't have anything set until three-thirty."

"Very good, sir. I'll leave you to it, then." _Something tells me that I'm going to return to find the young master full of take-out and asleep in your arms,_ he mused as he passed back through the executive lobby. _…I do hope I'm correct._

"…Okay," the billionaire asked once they were alone. "What's for lunch?"

Dick gave him a hopeful look. "Do you like Chinese food?"

"I do. Do _you_ like Chinese food?"

"Uh-huh. Is there anywhere that could bring us some Szechuan, do you think?"

"…You like _Szechuan?_" he asked, a slow grin spreading across his lips. _Jackpot, kiddo. _

"Yeah," the boy nodded, smiling broadly when he saw the expression unfolding on his guardian's face. _…I __knew__ you should smile more. You look nice when you smile._ "…Do you think we could ask if they have Dandan noodles? Those are really good."

"I know a place that delivers _fantastic_ Dandanmian," Bruce replied, a tiny glow of excitement in his eyes. _Finally, somebody else who appreciates a good, spicy dish. Maybe between the two of us we can convince Alfred to cook more Chinese food… _"Do you like Gong Bao chicken?"

"…Is it _good_ Gong Bao? Because I've had the real thing, and the one time I had it in a restaurant in the US it wasn't even _close_ to spicy enough," Dick asked cautiously.

"This restaurant started using Szechuan peppercorns when they became legal to import again. They don't use the westernized recipe that most places still do."

"Really?" His eyes were the size of platters. _Those sound like what Cai used to get sent by his family,_ he thought, recalling the meals that had been made on several occasions by a contortionist who had traveled with the circus for a short. Cai had quickly hit it off with his father, and had been more than pleased to introduce the young family to the miracle that was authentic Szechuan cuisine. "That sounds amazing. Could…could we get _both_? Dandan noodles _and _Gong Bao?"

_After what Leslie said about you being four pounds under the floor weight for your age group, I'll order anything you'll eat._ "You bet. We'll get both and split them, how about that?"

"Yes, please!" he nodded eagerly. 

"Take your coat off while I order, okay? There's a closet you can hang it in over there," he gestured towards the door before turning to the phone. _My kid likes Szechuan,_ he crowed. _…Wait. 'My kid'? Where the hell did that come from? He's not…oh, just order the damn food._ Bruce smirked; if there was one thing that he never had to argue with himself over, it was Chinese.

Unaware of the battle being aborted at the desk, Dick moved to the closet to do as he'd been told. A couple of spare suits hung inside, along with Bruce's rain jacket and an umbrella. He could technically reach what he needed from his tiptoes, but… _But it's more fun this way,_ he thought, jumping up and grabbing onto the sturdy metal rod with one hand. He hung there long enough to snag a hanger, then dropped back down to the floor and pulled his coat onto it. _And back up,_ he lifted himself again. Once his jacket had joined the other articles of clothing, he let himself dangle, pulling his chin to the bar a few times. Muscles he hadn't given a challenge in over a week stretched under his demands, tingling happily as he rose over and over again, pulling his knees to his chest occasionally to simulate a roll. _I wish there was space for me to swing…it would be amazing to have bars to practice on. Or…well, a trapeze, but…that's not going to happen. Bruce could totally afford one, I think, but there's no way I'd ever ask for it._

"Ah…Dick?"

_Oh, crud!_ He dropped instantly and whipped around, looking contrite. "Sorry," he apologized. "I…I got carried away."

"…Been a little while, huh?" the billionaire asked understandingly. The worst part of injuries for him was always the waiting to be able to resume his normal training; he could imagine that the boy was going through something similar, having been off schedule for almost ten days. _He's used to fairly large amounts of physical activity; sitting around the study all day reading isn't going to fulfill that need for him. _

"Yeah…I didn't realize how much I missed…you know…swinging around and stuff." He shrugged. "It's okay. I'll just run around the outside of your house if it's not raining later. I mean, once around has to be like at least a mile, right?"

Bruce gave a little laugh. _…Was that a joke? You're joking. That's…wow. _"I don't think it's quite _that_ big," he ruffled his hair. "…Maybe a half mile. But I've got a better idea, and one that won't get you in trouble with Alfred for coming inside muddy."

"What's that?"

"Remember how I told you there was an inside pool?" _…Please don't get upset about that again. You just made a joke about how big the footprint is, so I don't think you will, but…still. Don't. Please._

"Yeah. I'm…I'm not a huge water fan, though," he reminded him.

"I remember. But there's _also_ a full gym back in that part of the house." There had to be; even if it wasn't simply expected that the home of a very wealthy man would contain a workout area, he needed an excuse for his obvious build. The gym, kept updated despite the fact it was rarely actually used by the owner, fulfilled both public expectations. "I wouldn't want you using any of the machines without supervision, but there's enough open space and mats and things like that that you could tumble around all day in there. Would that help?"

"…You don't…I mean…are there…" He struggled with the question. _I don't want him to think I don't appreciate the offer, because I do, but…what I __really__ want is to get in the air a little._

"…Bars?" Bruce seemed to read his mind.

"Yeah," he slumped, relieved that the man had voiced it instead of him.

"No," he shook his head regretfully. "I've never been much of a gymnast." There was an old set of parallel bars in the cave, but they saw little use due to the fact that Batman's style was so heavily ground-based. In situations with multiple assailants, he relied on sheer strength and a firm stance for his success; while he could execute some aerial moves if he had to, he much preferred having his feet planted when he confronted an enemy. It gave him a sense of control, and he knew from experience that feeling out of control was the first step to losing a fight. "…But we can definitely get you some." 

"It's okay!" Dick objected hastily. "I'm sure what's in there will be fine." _You shouldn't spend money on me. I don't need anything, honest._

"Remind me when I get home tonight," the billionaire instructed, "and I'll show you where it is, okay?" _I'll have Alfred start looking for more gymnastics-type equipment, too. If there isn't enough room for it all, we'll knock out a wall or something. I don't know why you seem so hesitant to let me buy you things that will make you happy, though; does it go back to that bitch Randall calling you a thief? Or is it just a side effect of not being used to having a lot of disposable income? Or both, maybe,_ he mused.

"Sure," Dick nodded. _…Even if there aren't any bars, at least I can do some floor stuff. That's better than nothing. And some of the trees I saw on our walk yesterday looked good for climbing, so if it ever stops raining maybe I can try them out, too._ Determined not to bring up the bars again lest Bruce do something crazy like run out and buy him a set, he changed the subject. "…Do you think we could just sit and look at the city until the food comes? Or would that be boring for you, since you get to see it all the time?"

_Damn, kiddo, you're just hitting every ball out of the park today,_ the man smirked. _First Szechaun, and now you want to sit and watch the city. _He paused. _…It's almost like you're courting both sides of me. You can't be doing it consciously, since you don't know about Batman, but…huh. It's a little worrisome, but…how can I complain?_ "This city never gets boring, Dick. That's why I live here." Dropping a hand on his shoulder, he steered him back towards the windows. "Let's see what's going on down there, shall we?"


	29. Chapter 29

"…How far up are we?"

"Hmm?" Bruce asked him to repeat the question. They'd been sitting at the base of the wall of windows for about twenty minutes, the last five of which had been silent. The boy had been asking about the different sections of the city, important buildings, and the like, but slowly his questions had ceased, leaving them both simply watching.

"How tall is this building? We're on the top floor, right?"

"Right. We're about six hundred feet up. Why?"

"So…six seconds, more or less," he murmured to himself.

_Six seconds?_ the billionaire puzzled. _What are you talking about? _He peered at him for a moment, and then his eyes widened as he realized how the boy had arrived at his conclusion. _Six seconds to fall. Oh, kiddo, why were you calculating that?_ "Dick…" he said helplessly. "Nobody's going to fall from up here. This is very, _very_ thick glass. It would take an explosion to knock it out." He leaned forward and rapped his fist against it. "See?"

"I know," he answered. "I was just…you know…thinking about stuff. That's all."

"…What kind of stuff were you thinking about?"

"…Caleb," he admitted nervously.

_Caleb…? _It took him a moment. _The boy who committed suicide. But he didn't fall, he hung himself, so why would you think of him from up here?_ "Your roommate?" he asked quietly. "What about him?"

_If I tell him, he might get worried,_ Dick debated with himself. _But…I had the dream with him in it again last night, and I don't know why. And I don't know why I thought about it sitting here, either, because I didn't think about it all day until just now…_ "I…he was in one of my dreams last night," he disclosed, wrapping his arms around his knees. "It was the same nightmare I had right after he killed himself." He shifted to look at the man beside him, who was now struggling to hide a concerned frown. "…Did I tell you about that?"

"No," he shook his head, reorienting himself away from the city in order to focus on the child. "Why don't you tell me now, though?"

"Well…" he swallowed hard. "It's kind of a scary dream. Is…I mean, I could wait until we're back at your house to say it."

"It's okay, you can tell me here." _It must be pretty awful, if it hit you I such a way that it has you calculating time-to-Earth. I don't want you to have to keep something like that locked up inside._

"Um…okay. So…" He scooted closer until their knees touched, then continued. "So in the dream I'm…I'm in the big top. And there's this beam, with a rope in the middle, and…and Caleb's standing up there. And he turns around, and looks at everyone in the crowd. He asks if someone will help him, but…well, I'm right at the bottom of the ladder, and I always _want_ to help him, but I can never say anything, and it's so _frustrating…_so h-he picks up the end of the rope after that, and it's a…a noose. And he puts it around his neck, and says something else – I don't remember what, though – and then he…he _jumps_. He jumps, and it's so fast, but I still hear…his neck. I h-hear it br-break."

_Oh, baby,_ Bruce's lip trembled slightly. He was about to pull him in, believing that they'd reached the end of the dream, when Dick continued.

"And then…everyone _laughs,_ Bruce. They're laughing at him, and he's just hanging there, and it's _awful_…but they want more. They…they want another show. So I start c-climbing the ladder…"

_Oh, no. No, no, no. No eight-year-old should be having suicide dreams. Jesus fucking christ, if I __ever__ get my hands on that Randall sleazeball… _He pursed his lips, trying to keep listening through the blood pounding in his ears.

"I don't want to c-climb it, honest I don't, but I can't m-make myself stop. Then I'm out on the beam, and…I do what Caleb did. I try to get someone to help me, and no one c-comes. No one says anything. I always…I always hope that m-m-maybe _you_ will," he whispered, "but you aren't there. I look, but I don't see you. And then I…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "And then I j-jump, too." He bit back his sobs, but a few tears escaped from beneath his eyelids to roll down his cheeks. A warm hand curved around the back of his neck, drawing him gently closer. After a moment he felt the billionaire's forehead lean against his, a sympathetic gesture that somehow eased the pain twisting in his gut. A thumb brushed softly up under the edge of his hair, performing a comforting little massage that calmed him after only a few hitching breaths. "…I'm sorry." _We were having a good time, and I ruined it,_ he lamented. _I ruined it with my stupid dreams…_

"Hush," Bruce ordered. "Don't apologize for telling me about something that was bothering you. I _want_ you to tell me about those things, Dick."

"You…you do? Really?"

"Yes. How can I fix problems that I don't know about?"

"I guess you can't, but…how can you even fix this at _all_? You're not…you're not going to make me go to a psychologist, are you?" His single run-in with a member of that profession at the Center had been sufficient, in his opinion, for a lifetime.

"I will _never_ make you go to a psychologist," he swore. "If you ever _want_ to go to one, that's different, and if that's the case I want you to tell me, but I'll never force you to. Never, Dick. I swear that."

"…They weren't so nice to you, either, huh?"

"…Something like that, yeah."

"Do you think…I mean, talking to _you_ makes me feel better. Can…can we do that?"

"Of course we can." He pulled back, and wasn't surprised in the least when the boy crawled into his lap. Wrapping him in his arms, he sighed. "So let's see. You had that dream on Thursday night, right?"

"Right. Well…sort of Thursday night. It was right when Kevin came back to the room."

Bruce felt all of his muscles tighten. "Is that when he hit you?"

"...Yes," came a hesitant answer.

"Okay," he tried to drag himself back under control. "So you had this dream that night, and then you had it again last night. Did you have it in between?"

"Huh-uh. At least, I don't _think_ I did."

"Hmm. Well, that tells us something, doesn't it?"

"…Does it?" he twisted to look up at him quizzically.

"Don't you think something must have triggered it?"

"That makes sense, but…what?"

"…I don't know." Neither spoke for a moment. "…Let's try something else. How does the dream make you feel?"

Dick peered up at him. "Now _you_ kind of sound like a psychologist."

"Sorry. But it might help." _More importantly, it might tell me whether or not I should be really, __really__ worried._

"Well…it's scary," he said slowly. "Really scary, because I don't want to do it. I don't _want_ to jump, but it's like someone else is making me. No one comes to save me, the same as no one came to save Caleb. And it's really frustrating, like I said, because I want to help him, I want to help him more than anything, but I can't do that in the dream, either, and…I feel so useless. I can't help Caleb, I can't help myself…I can't help anybody. And there's no one else who will help us, so…we die. Just…just like m-my parents. N-no one c-could help them, either…"

…_Well, I think we figured out what led you to have that dream again,_ Bruce's face pinched, rocking gently back and forth as tears dampened his collar. _I'm not sure why the memory of your parents' fall led into this other one last night but not on Friday or Saturday, but I'm not sure that really matters. What matters is that you felt alone, and helpless. I know that feeling, kiddo. Trust me, I know._

His sobs quieted finally, leaving him sniffling and pensive. "…Bruce?" he asked eventually.

"Hmm?" he crooned, chin resting on top of his head.

"Do you...I mean…have…have the police found anything?" he finished in a rush.

The billionaire pursed his lips. He'd known that question would come sooner or later, had known ever since the first words of their acquaintance. _'…Someone killed them, didn't they?'_ Dick had asked, obviously already knowing the answer but needing to hear it verified by an adult. _I wish I had better news for you, kiddo,_ he sighed to himself. "…No," he answered slowly. "Not that I'm aware of, at least." _And unfortunately, I know __exactly__ how much they know. And that's nothing. _He'd been monitoring the case's progression with GCPD, and had been sorely disappointed. They _were_ investigating, but it was clear that the deaths of two out-of-towners so close to the jurisdictional line was far down on their list of priorities, a situation that he imagined wasn't helped by the fact that there had been little evidence and virtually no leads to start with. _Unless something breaks soon, they'll stick it in cold cases, _he grimaced. _…Like they did with mine._

"…Oh." He shifted. "They're never going to catch them, are they? Those guys who threatened Pop, and then…and then k-killed mom and dad?"

Bruce went very still. "…Dick, how do you know Haly was threatened?" he breathed, stunned.

"I…I heard it. I was going past his office when they were in there, and I heard them saying things to him. Mean things. Why?"

"Why didn't you tell someone sooner? _Did_ you tell anyone what you'd heard?"

"No," he shook his head. "I…I didn't. I should have," he whispered. "Maybe they'd be alive right now, if I had."

"No," the billionaire echoed the boy, distracted for a moment by the shock that had come with hearing that the boy knew about the threats that had been made. Determined to nip that guilty idea in the bud, he put on an authoritative tone. "Don't you dare start feeling like _any_ of this was your fault, Dick. _None_ of what has happened could have been prevented by you. Even if you'd told your parents what you heard, what do you think would have happened? Honestly, thinking about how they were, what would they have done when they heard that?"

It was a hard question, and the child prefaced his reply with a little sob, burying his face against his guardian's neck. "I dunno…I guess…I mean, _maybe_ dad would have double checked the ropes, but…" He shook his head. "…But he probably would have just gone and talked to Pop. And Pop would have told him that it was okay, or under control, or something, because if he thought…if he thought there was really danger, he would have told everyone, right? He would have wanted everyone to be _extra_ cautious, wouldn't he?"

"I think so," he nodded sincerely. "Go on."

"So…I mean, maybe dad would have quadruple-checked, but…if he'd already checked them three times, and Pop said everything was okay…and…nobody noticed anything when they were putting the set together," he realized. "They must have done whatever they did to it while it was still on the ground, or at least I _think_ they must have, because someone would have noticed a stranger climbing around on the trapeze. So if it was done on the ground, and no one setting up noticed it…" He grew confused. "Bruce, how...do you know why the wires broke?"

_Careful,_ he cautioned himself. "One of the police officers who looked at the wires when I was there said he thought it might have been acid," he informed him.

"…So maybe…maybe they looked okay when they were hung, but really the acid was hurting them, making them weak, right up until the show?"

"I could see that, sure."

…_That's good,_ Dick thought, relieved. _I knew no one with the circus would do something like that, but…it's still nice to hear that the roustabouts might not have even been able to see that there was something wrong. _"It had to be those guys who were mean to Pop," he insisted. "But…who were they?"

"You didn't see them?" Bruce asked, trying not to sound interrogative.

"No. I only heard them. They were almost done talking when I went by, because they started to come out after just a minute. I ran off because I didn't them to catch me standing there are listening."

…_As inconvenient as that is for the investigation – it would have been nice to see if your description matched what Haly could remember – it's probably the only reason you're still alive. If they had seen you and even __thought__ you'd overheard…_ He suppressed a shudder. _They wouldn't have stopped at breaking your jaw to make you be quiet, that's for sure. Not judging from what they did to your parents._ "And you're sure you haven't mentioned hearing them to anyone other than me?" he queried.

"Yes. I…I didn't want to say anything because I was ashamed," he ducked his face.

"Ashamed? Oh…because you thought it might have made a difference if you'd told somebody what you heard before the show?"

"Yes. I mean…I understand now that it probably _wouldn't_ have made a difference, but…I still don't want anyone else but you to know, Bruce," he begged. "Please, don't make me tell the police? I…I don't want anyone to think I might have saved them, and didn't. I know that you understand, because you made _me_ understand, but…they might not." _If the police think I could have saved them, would they send me back to the Center?!_ he fretted. _Please don't make me tell, Bruce. Please, I don't want to go back there. I want to stay with you…you make me feel safe._

"You don't have to tell anyone but me," he promised. "…In fact, it's probably better that you _don't_ tell anyone else. I wouldn't normally suggest that you withhold information from the police, but since I'm sure Pop Haly told them everything already it probably wouldn't make a difference. Although," an idea struck him, "do you think you would recognize their voices if you heard them again?"

"Um…maybe?" Dick ventured slowly. "I don't know. A lot's happened since then…I wouldn't want to mess up and put somebody who didn't do anything wrong in jail just because I thought they sounded like someone I never saw."

"Sure," the billionaire agreed. "But kiddo? If…" _Ah, no,_ he corrected himself. _When. These bastards __will__ be caught. Newtown, Gotham, Bangkok…I don't care where they run, their identities won't remain a mystery to you for twenty years. I refuse to let that happen._ "When they're caught – and someone will get them, I promise you that – you might have to go in and try to say if you recognize their voices. I know that will be tough," he added quickly as he felt the boy stiffen, "but it's important. And I'll be right beside you when that time comes." _No way am I letting him approach a police lineup without me. Not a chance._

"…I'll do my best, Bruce. I just hope I remember good enough…" He trailed off, a deep frown etching his face. "But does it even matter? You said the police don't have any idea who it was, so how can you be sure they'll even ever get caught?"

"Well, I'll tell you something about that," he answered haltingly as a note of hopelessness came back into the young voice issuing from below. "Do you-" _Stop, stupid! This is suicide!_ A grimace tightened his lips. _Telling him Batman exists isn't going to make him suspect that it's me,_ he rebutted. _Millions of people know Batman is a thing, and none of __them__ have put it together. It's not giving anything away, and it will make him feel better. Besides, once he starts seeing the news and just generally living in Gotham, the topic of Batman is bound to come up. In some ways it will look more suspicious to him if I __don't__ mention it before then. So shut up and let me give him something to cling to._

"…Bruce?" Dick asked quizzically when the sentence was never finished.

"Sorry," the billionaire apologized. "I got, uh, distracted for a second. Anyway, I was going to ask if you've ever heard of Batman."

The boy puzzled for a moment. "Yes," he responded finally. "At least I think so. A couple times. But I don't really…you know…_know_ anything about him, other than that he fights crime. Is…is that right?"

"Yes. That's exactly what he does. And he does it right here in Gotham." _Oh, you dumbass. Stop talking. He's smart, he'll figure it out if you say anything else._ "…A lot of people think he's scary, but…well, I heard a rumor – and it was just a rumor, don't go quoting me on it or anything – that he's taken an interest in what happened to your parents."

"…Really? Why?"

…_Oh, shit. I can't very well tell him Batman's parents were killed, that would be handing it to him on a silver platter._ "I don't know," he shrugged. "It's hard to tell what will and won't get his attention. Maybe they tie into something bigger he's investigating; it seems like that happens a lot, you hear that he's looking into something and then it leads to a bigger…thing," he finished lamely.

"Oh. Well…do you think he can solve it?"

"Once he's taken a case, he doesn't give up on it, kiddo. If anyone can solve it, he can."

"Is he better than the police?" His voice carried a tone of mild excitement now, the idea of someone special looking into _his_ case catching his interest. "He must be, if they haven't gotten anywhere but you think he will, right?"

"…Well, he does seem to solve cases that the police have given up on, so…" _This is kind of embarrassing,_ he tried to hold back a faint blush. _Being the best doesn't mean I like to brag about it, especially covertly like this._ _Besides, how will it look to him if I lavish praise on Batman now and then he finds out it's me down the road?_

"...I wish there was something I could do to help him."

Bruce nearly sputtered. _What?!_ "…What?"

"I dunno," the boy shrugged, taking the word as an inquiry as to what he might do to assist. "Just…something. It would be nice to help make sure that those bad guys who…who did what they did," he flinched, "can't do it to anyone else. That's all. I don't want anyone else to have to feel the way we do. No one deserves that."

It took every ounce of control the billionaire had to keep his mouth from dropping open. _You…but…I…you…no. Yes, but…no. Jesus…_ "That's a very noble offer, kiddo," he choked out after an admirably brief pause, "but I think Batman's more of a lone wolf type."

Dick craned his neck and met his guardian's gaze. "…How do you know so much about him? Is he like a friend of yours or something?" _I could see that. You have this big building with your name on it, and you must be interesting to a lot of people if all of those…what did Alfred call them?…paparazzi, that was it…if all of those paparazzi want pictures of me just because you took me in. It kind of makes sense that you would know him._

_Batman has no friends,_ he almost answered. For some reason those four words ached a little as they ran through his head, but he put it aside, concentrating instead on his response. "Everyone in Gotham knows about Batman," he said instead. "You'll see once you've been here a little longer. They talk about him on the news, and in the papers, and all of that." _Get out. Get out of this conversation. _

"He sounds important. Like you are," he gave him a little smile.

"I hope I'm not as scary as he is," he joked, trying to put distance between Bruce Wayne and Batman. _I'm working on it, damn it. I can't just cut things off, that would look odd._

"Why do people think he's scary?" Dick narrowed his eyes. "If he catches bad people and puts them in jail…I mean, he doesn't kill them, does he?"

"No," he said firmly. _Watch it…_ "No. He doesn't kill. He does what I said; he investigates crimes, and he catches the people who perpetrated them."

"So…what's there to be scared of, so long as you don't do anything wrong?" the boy queried frankly.

…_Goddamn, why are you so __quick__?_ was all Bruce could think. "I guess nothing," he shrugged. "But people still think he is."

"Huh." He chewed at his lip for a second. "…Maybe he prefers it that way," he mused.

"…Huh?" he feigned confusion. _You have got to be kidding me. What, now he's going to sit here and psychoanalyze me, without even knowing he's doing it? I __knew__ this was a bad idea. _

"Well…if everyone thinks he's scary, and doesn't want him to come after them, maybe it will help keep them from doing something that would _make_ him come after them. Then he has less work to do. Does…does that make sense?"

"I can see your logic there," he nodded. _Change the subject. Change the fucking subject, __right__ now. Where the hell is the food, he can't ask questions like that if his mouth is full of Szechuan…_

As if on cue, Cynthia's voice came through the speaker on his desk. "…Mr. Wayne? There's a delivery person here for you, with some takeout?"

"Lunchtime," he squeezed the child in his lap tightly before urging him to stand up. "…You want to watch a movie while we eat?" he asked as he moved towards the door.

"…Could we check the news? Maybe Batman solved it already!" Excited by the thought, he bounced slightly up and down on the balls of his feet. _That would be amazing. Although I still wish I could help…I wish I knew more. I wish I'd stuck around to see those guys when they came out, maybe that would have helped. Or if I'd followed them to their car, and gotten a license plate number._

The hope in that eager little voice hit him like a sledgehammer. _He hasn't,_ he groaned silently. _I'm sorry._ "…You bet we can, kiddo," he agreed, not turning around lest Dick read the guilt the question had aroused in him. "Anything you want."


	30. Chapter 30

_He's going to figure it out,_ a growl sounded in the back of Bruce's head as he suited up later that night.

_He's __not__,_ was argued back. _He didn't even __mention__ Batman after we checked the news and found nothing on about him. And he fell asleep in the middle of the movie; if he'd been working out that Bruce Wayne and Batman are the same person, he would have been too excited to just pass out like he did. It's fine._

_It's __not__ fine. Not with the test results Alfred brought home from CPS, at least; he's not much below me in terms of IQ, and he's a good observer. It's only a matter of time._

_Yeah, well, technically that could be said about everything._ The Zeta tube went off behind him. _…Including Clark showing up._ "…Hey, Clark," he greeted quietly, sensing the other man drawing up behind him.

"…Was that a semi-normal hello?" the Kryptonian asked, a little shocked. "…I haven't even met this new kid of yours, but I already like him if his being around means you're going to act like a human being more regularly."

'_New kid of yours'? Damn it! _His face darkened.

…_Fine,_ he sighed silently to himself._ You need time in control? Fine. Have it your way for a few hours. Blow off some steam, and maybe you'll realize that this isn't a problem. I don't think it is, at least._ "…Mm."

…_Well __that__ mood went downhill fast,_ Superman thought a little bitterly_. Guess I shouldn't have called attention to it._ "Anyway, I just came by to say congratulations." He grinned. "…So what did he think of everything?"

"…What?"

"All of this," he waved to indicate the cave. "It must have blown his mind."

"Are you insane? He doesn't know about any of this. And he's not going to." _Unless I can't figure out how to keep my mouth shut properly when I'm around him._ Ticked at himself, he shoved his hand into a glove, his mouth tightening when the fabric jammed painfully into the spaces between his fingers.

"…Are _you_ insane? He's bound to figure it out sooner or later, Bruce. I could tell the other night that you really care for him, and I can't imagine you being that enamored of a child who's anything less than impressively smart. As well as you have this place hidden, no one could possibly live with you very long and not realize that you're going _somewhere_ every night. Not all of those absences can be excused with gallery openings and charity balls; what are you going to tell him when he starts asking tough questions like that?" _I get letting him settle in, and I know it's only been a couple of days, but…this is a big part of your life. How long do you honestly think you can hide this side of yourself from him? _"…Don't you think it's going to hurt his feelings to find out how much you've been keeping from him, if he somehow doesn't sort things out and you let his not-knowing stretch on for months or years? I guess I can see not having told him yet – from what you told me it sounds like he's had a lot going on in his life lately – but…you're not planning on telling him at _all_?"

"No, Clark, I'm not," he snapped.

…_You're going to have to spill the beans eventually, Bruce,_ he didn't speak, knowing it would only piss the other man off further. _And it seems to me like you'd be better off doing that sooner rather than later, but…he's not my kid, so it isn't my decision. _"Well, that aside," he tried to smooth the waters by changing the subject slightly, "…can I meet him?"

"Not dressed like that, no."

"Obviously, if you aren't going to tell him about Batman. What I _meant_ was, can I meet him as a civilian?"

"Eventually. Maybe."

"…Is Bruce still in there? I'd kind of prefer to talk to _him_," he crossed his arms, mildly annoyed.

"…I don't have time for this. I'm going out on patrol. I have cases to solve." Dropping the cowl over his face, he began to walk away, halting for only a second when Clark called after him.

"You're still working his parents' murder, aren't you?" There was a note of concern in the question. _…You'd better be,_ he thought. _Because if Bruce is fixing to adopt him and Batman's trying to distance himself so much that he's actually __dropping__ a case just because it's so intimately tied to him, then we have a serious problem. Batman doesn't just give up on crimes; if it's gotten that bad, you're going to tear yourself apart._

"Of course I am," he snarled. "I took the case, and I'll solve it. The fact that he's tied up in it is inconsequential."

…_No, it isn't. But I'm okay with letting you tell yourself that for now, because at least it means your darker half isn't trying to reject him completely._ "Okay. Well…let me know about meeting him. I'd really like to."

"…You and the rest of the world, evidently, Clark," he snapped as he recalled the paparazzi mob he'd faced earlier in the day. "Get in line." With that, he climbed into the Batmobile and sped off down the tunnel.

"I was kind of hoping I warranted a sneak preview," the Kryptonian frowned after him. "…Jerk."

"Mister Kent! A pleasure to see you, as always," Alfred broke through his discontent as he came downstairs.

"Hi, Alfred," the Kryptonian turned with a weary smile. "…Any idea what's up with him?" he jerked his thumb back over his shoulder to indicate the gap where the car usually sat. _…Please don't verify what I think is going on. Let it be something else._

"Ah. Yes," the butler's expression pinched. "…I believe that we may be approaching the crisis."

"…Oh. I was really hoping you would say anything other than that," the caped man's shoulders slumped.

"I wish there was some other explanation I could offer, Mister Kent. I truly do." _But there is nothing else I can imagine that would cause such a troubled look as the one that has been in his eyes since I picked the young master up this afternoon,_ he thought mournfully. _I only hope…well. I __can__ only hope; there's little more to be done._

"Any thoughts on which way he'll fall?" Superman asked quietly. "I know we're both rooting for Bruce, but…"

"I've been playing the odds over and over in my head. It's going to be close, I fear."

"…How close?" _If anyone has an idea of how this is likely to turn out, it's Alfred._

"I've long been a fan of making small wagers," the butler said slowly. "…But I wouldn't risk a penny on this race. It's impossible to call with anything approaching certainty."

Clark blew out a long puff of air, his face pensive. "If the wrong side wins…what happens to the boy?" he wondered out loud.

"I don't know. I'm certain he wouldn't remove him from the house, but…I suppose he might be relegated to the same sort of upbringing Master Wayne had." _Heaven forbid. Master Dick is far too warm and loving a child to thrive in that sort of environment, at least emotionally. I do not want to see that cycle repeated. _

"…Well _that_ doesn't sound so bad." Catching the way the butler flinched slightly at his words, he got the sense that there were things involved in his friend's upbringing that he had no idea about. "…Is it?"

Alfred's brows drew down. "…Suffice it to say that that would be a very great distance from preferable, Mister Kent." He shook himself. "But with any luck we won't have to find out. Master Wayne has been…frankly, he's been a different person this weekend. It has been marvelous to see, and there are remarkably few things in this world that I would not do in order to ensure that he stays so content. Perhaps the memory of those recent good feelings will be sufficient ammunition for his war with himself; I don't know."

"…'Content'?" the Kryptonian repeated, not believing his ears.

"I would even venture happy, at moments," the Englishman disclosed. "And…affectionate."

"Bruce? Affectionate? And no one landed in the hospital?"

"…No," Alfred's lip quirked slightly at the joke. "As I said, it's been…a revelation." _Of the man he could have been all along, perhaps, had I not screwed things up so entirely for him._

"…Huh. Well…listen, do you have my civilian cell number?"

"I do."

"If he seems to be tipping the wrong way and you think there's something I can do to help…give me a call, would you?"

"I most certainly will, Mister Kent," the butler agreed, relieved that he was no longer the only person other than the combatants who was cognizant of the battle at hand. "That is exceedingly kind of you, considering that you haven't even met Master Dick as of yet," he noted.

"Anyone who can make Bruce Wayne _affectionate_ without mind control or drugs has my full support. But I have to admit, I'm a little scared," he grinned minutely.

"…Mister Kent?" Alfred asked him to clarify.

"Yeah. If an eight-year-old kid can win over Bruce Wayne – and, possibly, Batman – this fast, what's he going to do to the rest of us?"

"Ah. It's an admirable concern, to be sure. If I may speak from my own, admittedly limited, experience?"

"Please do," he invited. _Tell me what I'm working with here._

"The answer, as you'll no doubt learn for yourself soon enough, is that he simply steals your heart completely away."

Clark was silent for a long moment. "…Is he good enough to steal Batman's?" he asked finally.

"Let us hope so, Mister Kent. I've no idea what sort of darkness we'll be witness to if he is not."

* * *

He should have gone to Newtown that night, but allowing himself a quick patrol of Gotham in order to blow off his annoyance at Clark for having questioned his dedication to the case fouled his plans. It was busier than usual for a Monday, and before he realized it time had flown by, leaving him standing on a rooftop with discordant church bells ringing in the third hour of the day all around. _…I should head back to the cave,_ he thought, suddenly tired.

As he turned to do exactly that, motion inside of a nearby apartment building – a flash in the window, nothing more, but enough to be suspicious at this time of night – caught his eye. He slipped closer, his lips pursing as he took in the scene; two people, an argument, a small amount of blood. The man raised his fist again, preparing to strike the already cowering woman as he shouted something that Batman had no chance of hearing from across the street. _It doesn't matter why he's hitting her,_ he thought as he reached for his grapple. _This clearly isn't the first time he's done so tonight, and she's making no effort to so much as stop him. There's no call for what he's doing._

He was just about to fire his line and swing in through the window when a small child ran in from the side and began to pummel its fists ineffectually against the man's hip in a clear defense of the woman. As she reached down for the boy, so did her abuser; unfortunately for the youth, the man's hands got to their destination first.

_Don't you __dare__ hit him,_ the cowled man growled silently, deploying his hook and launching himself forward. _Every finger you lay on him, I will break off. _His unvoiced threat was too little, too late, however; as he extended his feet to crash through the glass, the male on the other side lifted the child and threw him violently sideways, out of sight again.

Batman was on him a second later. "…_That_ was a mistake," he snarled, shoving him down as the woman screamed wordlessly. "Beating _her_ was bad enough. A child, though?" He zip-tied the still-balled fists together tightly, digging his knee into the man's back with more pressure than was strictly needed to keep him on the ground. "Disgraceful."

"I can't feel my goddamn hands, you son of a bitch!"

"_Good._ Now shut up and stay still until the police come." Rising to his feet, he waited to see if his orders would be followed. When the only sign of rebellion that came was a faint muttering, he stepped away. _Now where did the woman…_ His thought trailed off as he turned in the direction that the boy had been chucked and found a large, blood-smeared dent in the wall. Below it, the floor opened up to allow a staircase to descend. Neither victim could be seen, but his ears reported that there were sobs rising from the floor below. _…But not a child's cries,_ his nostrils flared.

The view from the top riser was macabre enough to give even his jaded eyes pause. A few steps from the bottom, the beaten woman was kneeling over her offspring, her splayed hands – one of her fingers, Batman noted automatically, had been broken during the fight – hovering above his silent, twisted form as if she knew that touching him would verify what was already spelled out by his position. "…Rafe?" her warbling tone traveled up the stairwell. "Rafe, talk to mommy. Baby…daddy didn't mean it. Daddy's sorry. He'll buy you ice cream to make it better, any flavor you want, sugar, just…Rafe, just wake up, sweetie, honey, Rafe, baby, _please_…"

She was shaking so violently as she reached the end of her pleas that her hand collided with the body involuntarily. At the touch, she froze. "…Rafe?" her disbelieving whisper broke. There was no answer, not so much as a twinkle of recognition in the half-open eyes, and as reality crashed down on her the woman threw back her head and gave an unholy shriek of denial.

There was no point in moving any closer; the boy was obviously past any sort of saving, and as he was yanked up into his mother's arms his crushed neck turned so unnaturally that the man at the top of the stairs had to look away. _He landed on it,_ he couldn't suppress a shudder. _That bastard threw him, and he might have survived hitting the wall, but…not the fall to the floor._ He glanced down once more. _…He had blue eyes._

Those four words broke something inside of him, and he couldn't stay in that tragic apartment any longer. There was a phone by the window, and he slowed his step exactly long enough to dial 911 and set it back down to ring through. Then he was gone, vanishing in the shadows as the hysterical woman's wails poured into the night behind him.

His mind was blank, save for a faint awareness of a low humming in his ears, until he regained the car. When the door had closed, he didn't reach for the ignition switch, or the radio, or, indeed, anything; his hands merely fell to his sides as he stared, unseeing, through the windshield.

…_That is how parents feel,_ he thought flatly. Curled up in the innermost recesses of his mind, the part of himself that had only just begun to venture back into the world flinched from long-ago inflicted wounds. _That__ is the cost of love. You knew that. You __knew__, but you just had to go and do it anyway. That will be you, if something happens to him. __That will be you, screaming uselessly on your knees, if you love him and he dies!_

_No,_ he tried. _No. It won't happen. It won't. He's healthy, he's smart, he has a safe home…that won't happen. It's safe._

_Love is __never__ safe. Mother and father were smart, and healthy, and had a safe home, too. But it didn't matter, did it? None of that was enough. All the money in the world couldn't have saved them, and neither could you, even though you were __right there__. Even if you could be with him every hour of every day, it will never be enough to guarantee that you're not the next parent losing their mind over their dead child. You're not strong enough to risk that. _A pause. _…That's why I was brought into existence; to protect you from the evil uncertainties of this world. Or don't you remember?_

One hand flew to his lenses, shoving them upward so that he could meet his own gaze in the rearview mirror. _You have other tasks now. You can focus on them, on protecting others. Let me take my own risks. If I need you, I'll tell you._

_You. Are not. Strong enough,_ was hissed back, his irises darkening.

_I…_ His eyes slipped away from themselves. _I can't fight you like this._

_No. You can't. You planned it that way, remember? _

…_Yeah,_ Bruce thought despondently as his hand reached out to start the car. _I know. But that doesn't mean I don't regret it._


	31. Chapter 31

Usually when the cowl came off, his darker nature relinquished the majority of its hold, allowing Bruce to run the show and only surfacing when anger and similar emotions were strongly stirred. Tonight, though, it maintained its control, giving the billionaire just enough rein for basic politeness to be observed. _Say goodnight to Alfred, and then bed,_ he told himself as he walked up the stairs to the house.

"…I'm back," he leaned into the kitchen exactly long enough to state.

The butler's head came up from his project. _That was not like you, Master Wayne,_ his eyes crinkled in concern. _So it's begun, then. God help us all. _His thoughts turned to the boy his elder charge had tucked in some hours earlier. _…And especially that poor child. I shall have to make special efforts to keep him distracted; I fear this will not be a happy experience for him, this wrangling with yourself. The less of it he is exposed to, the better._

In the upper hallway, Bruce found Dick asleep against his door again, Elinor wrapped in his arms. _…Oh, kiddo,_ he sighed. _I'm so sorry…_

_Put him to bed, and then go to your own._

_But he needs-_

_He needs to learn that he can't sleep beside you anymore. More importantly, __you__ need to establish a measure of distance. You've let him in too far already, or did you __not__ have a moment of sheer terror earlier when you saw that the dead boy's eyes were nearly the same color as his are?_

_But…but they were,_ he whispered, remembering the shudder that had run through his heart when, just for an instant, the crumpled figure on the stairs had morphed in his mind's eye into the child before him now.

_That shouldn't have mattered. If you hadn't let him get too close, that moment – that fear – would never have been. Put him to bed, and don't get all…cuddly…with him, or I'll jump in. You know he won't understand what's happened if I have to do that, precocious or not._

…_Damn you,_ he cursed himself, then bent down. "…Dicky?"

_No__ pet names!_

_Christ! Fine!_ "Dick?" he shook him gently. "Wake up."

"Umn…huh?" the boy snapped awake. He blinked twice, then recognized the man standing over him and smiled blearily. "Bruce," he whispered.

"…C'mon," he offered his hand.

_He could have risen on his own._

_Yeah, but it would have looked weird, don't you think? _he fought back, his ardor to do so boosted simply by being in the youth's presence. _I thought the whole point of this was that he doesn't find out Batman and Bruce Wayne are the same person. Pretty hard to keep that a secret if I start acting all different and scary, just like everyone thinks Batman is, right?_

…_Proceed as you must,_ was growled back disconsolately.

He led Dick into his own bedroom, trying to ignore the confused look he was sent when they crossed the hall. _I'm tucking him in,_ he stated silently. _If I can't comfort him the way I want to, then I'm at least going to do that._ "Into bed," he ordered gently.

"But…are you going to lay down in here?" he asked, frowning.

"I…no," Bruce ground out, looking away.

"…Did I do something wrong?" he shuffled closer, peering upwards. "...Bruce?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," he answered."But…CPS might think that _I_ did, or am, if we share a bed too much. Do…do you understand that?" It was the best excuse that he could come up with on the fly, and as he voiced it he realized that it was true. _If he doesn't sleep in his own room at least a good portion of the time, it lends credence to what Randall threatened to suggest,_ he grimaced. _You might not let me be as close to him as I want to be from now on, but I'll be damned if he's taken away and thrown back into the system. Protecting him physically is __not__ a form of letting him get too close,_ he argued before a protest could be made. _It's the exact same thing we do on the streets every night; keeping innocent people from suffering injustices. _

"…Oh," the boy mused. "I…I guess I see that, but…it's not scary when you're right there."

"I know," he half-moaned. _It's less scary for me, too._

_Hence the problem._

_Fuck off._

…_Put him to bed, already._

"…So I have to sleep in here from now on?" Dick queried sadly. "All by myself? I've been trying, Bruce, honest I have, I just…the nightmares. And…well, they don't come back as much when I'm with you."

"I know," he repeated. "But they'll get better. Sometimes the best way to conquer your fear is to face it head on." _You hear that?_ he sneered at himself._ Because it's true._

_This is a tactical retreat, and you know it. You can't live to fight another day if you've been torn to shreds, the way letting someone in only to lose them would do._

_I won't __want__ to live to fight another day if this tears __him__ to shreds, the way it's likely to. Look at him!_ he pled, his eyes darting to and away from the teary pout that was forming on the pointed little face below.

…_He's strong. He will adjust._

_This is cruel._

_This is necessary. Put him to bed._

"…Come on, Dick, it's late. I'll tuck you in," he sighed. "You'll be okay," he assured him a minute later, smoothing the quilt out on top of him. "Do you have Elinor?"

_Quit stalling._

_Shut. Up. What I'm doing is reasonable. Leave me alone._

_You don't __really__ want me to leave you alone, do you?_ came a silken threat.

…_No,_ he gulped.

_I didn't think so._

"…I have her right here," the boy answered, pulling a stuffed trunk out from under the blanket to show his guardian. "…Bruce?" he whispered.

"Yes?"

"I wouldn't tell," Dick swore. "If anyone asked, I'd tell them I sleep in my own bed. I would say whatever I had to if it meant you wouldn't get in trouble. Honest, Bruce, I really would. If you want to stay…?"

His hand started out to brush through the tousled dark locks on the pillow, then pulled back with a jerk. "…I know," he replied. "But I don't dare, Dick. I'm sorry." _Can I at least-_

_No._

_I didn't even get to finish!_

_I know what you were going to say. No unnecessary physical contact. That's half of what got you to this point to begin with, was all the…the cuddling. _

The billionaire stood up then, holding back so many unshed tears that it was making his sinuses ache. "…Goodnight," he wished desperately.

"…Goodnight," Dick answered. "I'll see you in the morning?" he posed a hopeful question.

_No. Absolutely not. You're vulnerable first thing in the day._

"…We'll see," he managed to get one corner of his mouth up for a second. "Go to sleep now."

"…Okay."

He could feel a bright but puzzled gaze on his back the whole way to the hall. As soon as he'd gained the sanctity of his own bedroom, he slumped against the door, exhausted by the emotional difficulty of what he'd just done. _…Do you see now?_ the guardian of his heart asked. _It drained you just to reset him to a more defensible distance. Can you imagine what it would be like if you let him get closer still – if you'd gone on with the pet names and the physical contact – and then he was taken from you, either through death or otherwise? That would be a hundred times worse than this. A thousand, even. _

…_At least I'd be happy until then._

_Maybe. But it isn't worth risking your life for a happiness that could cause such pain. You remember that pain. Do you really want it again, and more extreme?_

_No, but…what's the point of life, if you can't find happiness in it?_

_You found enough happiness before you ever knew he existed. You can continue to do so. I won't interfere with your previous pastimes._

That wasn't sufficient, though, not anymore. He'd had moments of what he thought might have been happiness before Dick, it was true, but they'd been fleeting, uncertain things, and had left him with a feeling of unease afterwards. But the boy…even though he was still mourning his parents, and as such was bound to be somewhat depressed and dimmed, being with him was like nothing Bruce had experienced since he was six years old. Earlier, talking about Chinese food and watching the city with him, the billionaire had felt warm in a way he couldn't consciously remember ever having felt before. It was as if he'd been a shriveling plant left in the shadows that, finally exposed to the sun, couldn't help but reach out for it. Excitement and verve had filled his veins, and for the first time in two decades, he had truly had an idea of what it felt like to live rather than merely survive.

Dick carried within himself some essential property, some basic element, that Bruce had spent his entire lifetime looking for in things that couldn't hurt him by going away. He'd filled his head with books, movies, formulas, and logic, digging endlessly. There were ten thousand tidbits from science, literature, and pop culture that he could quote as being examples of happiness, but those were the words of others; the closest he could come to a personal understanding of that emotion, even as an adult, was to think about the sense of organized satisfaction that came with successfully closing out a tough case or an important business deal. To be sure, it was a pleasant thing to know that he'd successfully finished his task, but still there was always that sense of something missing. Happiness was a foreign country, and no matter how many times he tested the border he simply couldn't make it across. It shimmered in the distance, enticing, promising, unknown, and unaccessible.

And then there had been the boy, a native, it seemed, of that so close and yet so far away land, who had become lost in the dark territories by mistakes and circumstance. They'd seemed like the perfect pair; the elder could guide the younger through the drizzly nation that he knew all too well, and the younger might just be able to secure passage into the bright fields beyond for the elder, if not to live than at least for regular visits. Now, though…now it seemed that the border guard would force Bruce to stay in the rain while the child danced across the line without him. He could watch him revel in the sun from afar, but he was forbidden to join him.

But the boy was waiting, it seemed, hovering just on the edge of his own land and perfectly willing to cross back over - even if only in his dreams - if doing so would allow him to bring a little spark of light to his shadow-haunted soul mate. Every bit of logic Bruce possessed, manifest in the guardian who had turned him back at the gates, told him to about-face and walk into the rain until he could no longer see that joyful, beckoning smile. Even just a few days earlier, he might have simply listened. Once he'd held a little piece of that ephemeral sunshine in his arms, however, he couldn't do it. Something had been lit within him in that moment, and now that he possessed the maturity to sense the importance of that secret flame he was determined to fight to the death to keep it from being smothered for a second time. The fuel to keep it burning, he knew, lay over the border. He had to get through, there was no other way about it. Surely, _surely_ there must be a way to defeat the gatekeeper's logic; after all, it was his own.

…_This isn't over,_ he swore as he lay down and closed his eyes. _You're fighting by yourself; I have Dick on my side. I have something to fight for. You're outnumbered._

_It wouldn't be the first time a smaller force has overcome a greater one. Besides…a child soldier?_

_Are you saying you'd turn down volunteers, your two-to-oneness?_ he smirked.

…_No,_ came back thoughtfully. _I don't suppose that I would._


	32. Chapter 32

For a long time after he was tucked in, Dick stared towards the door, wondering what had changed. _He was weird tonight,_ he frowned. _I understand why it would be bad if CPS thought he was doing something to hurt me, but…that doesn't mean he can't touch me at all._ That was what had struck him the most about the few minutes he'd just spent in the man's presence; the gentle fingers on his shoulder, the brush of a palm over his hair, the tiny physical connections that had flowed so easily between them since he'd been brought to this place, had been absent. _He acted like he wanted to,_ he mused, recalling how Bruce's hand had twitched towards him before being yanked back as if he were something too dangerous for contact. _He says I didn't do anything wrong, but…I don't get it._

He turned the last three days over and over again in his mind, searching for something, _anything_, that he might have done to offend. _…He's been acting a little different ever since our lunch came,_ he pondered, his gaze moving to the ceiling as he shifted onto his back with Elinor pinched in the crook of one elbow. _I mean, he's still been normal, but…there was something weird in his eyes. Like he was in the middle of making a big decision, and he couldn't decide which way he wanted to go. What were we talking about right before the food got there…oh, right. He was telling me about Batman. But why would that make him act funny? No, that doesn't make sense…besides, he even joked about how he hoped he wasn't that scary, so it must have been something else. Maybe it was just that talking about…about my parents…got him thinking about his? I guess that could be it, but…he's talked about them with me a couple of times now, and he wasn't like this afterwards. And that was before the talk about Batman. _

Sighing, he rolled onto his side. Lying down in an empty bed was the last thing he wanted to be doing, but he knew that getting up would undo the tucking in that was the only gesture Bruce had made tonight. Since it seemed unlikely that he would be able to procure another repeat of the goodnight ritual this evening, especially given the man's reticence during the last one, he stayed put. _…Maybe it's got something to do with what he did after he put me to bed the first time,_ he pondered, chewing at his lip as he ruminated. _The way he was after lunch could have been something different, or maybe even anticipation of what he was going to do tonight. But…where does he even go after I go to bed? Just downstairs, or out, or…who knows? This city is huge,_ his memory of the view from the top floor of Wayne Enterprises reminded him. _And he's an important person. There must be a lot of things he has to do at night. Even if he doesn't leave the house, it's so big that he could be doing practically anything without anyone knowing. I know he said he'd shown me the most important places, but maybe there are places that he did think I needed to know about. Maybe he's in one of those._

_…But that's all I know. That doesn't tell me what he might have been doing to make him look and act like that tonight. _He huffed. _…I guess I could ask Alfred. If he knows everything, then he should know why Bruce is being weird. Maybe it won't even matter in the morning,_ he considered hopefully. _Mom…mom always said sometimes you just need to sleep on something for it to make sense, or for the right decision to be clear. If all he needed was to sleep on his problem, that might take care of it. He could be normal in the morning, even! _Holding onto that thought, he glanced once more about the expanse of his room – _it's so big in here…I wish the nightlight reached the corners, it's scary like this, all by myself – _and shut his eyes. _…Even if it's scary, I have to try. Bruce wants me to try and sleep on my own, and besides, the sooner I go to sleep the sooner it will be morning, and he'll be the way he should be._ He gulped. _…So long as the nightmares don't come. Maybe I won't have any more, since I had one earlier…_

For a few hours, his wish came true. He even had a pleasant dream, part memory, part earnest desire, of himself and Bruce walking through the woods that ringed the manor. It all looked much as it had on Sunday, except that the iron-gray clouds had cleared to allow dappled sunlight to fall onto their path. Neither man nor boy spoke as they passed beneath the leafless branches, but their hands were loosely joined, and the silence was a companionable one. It wasn't until they approached a dark, overgrown portion of the path that Dick hesitated, wondering who would cut a walkway through such a frightening section of forest. He spoke his companion's name, begging him not to go on, but there was no answer. Strong fingers tightened around his own, and he was pulled, albeit as gently as Bruce could manage, into the tangled thicket.

It seemed to go on forever, and the sense that he was surrounded by things he couldn't fathom only grew the deeper he was led into the blackness. Briars caught at his pants, his coat, his hair, anywhere they could gain purchase. He shrugged them off, some going more easily than others, and drew closer to the figure drawing him on. He ached to flee, to return to where he knew the terrain, but Bruce's step was incontrovertible. _Besides,_ he decided fearfully, _if we split up now we might never find each other again in this crazy mess._ _I don't want that. At least this way we're together._

They stepped into a clearing finally, and Dick gasped as he recognized the massive tent in the center of it. _…What is that doing here?_ He turned pleading eyes upwards to his guardian, pleading for him to explain, but the man didn't seem to be able to either respond or stop. _What's going on? Why are we here like this? This doesn't make sense…who is that?_

Tugged inside, he gazed upwards to where a man of about Bruce's height and weight, clad entirely in black and wearing a ski mask that covered everything except for his mouth and chin, stood on a platform. Just below him, one on each side of the elaborate trapeze setup, were John and Mary Grayson. Seeing them, he suddenly understood what was about to happen. Eyes widening, he tried to call out for them; _don't do it! Don't let your feet leave the ground, the wires will break! Mom! Dad! Please! _They didn't appear to notice his distress in the least, simply continuing to stare into the middle distance, unknowing, unfeeling, and unconcerned.

But this, he discovered quickly, was a different dream than any of the ones he had had before. Instead of staying on the ground, he and Bruce climbed upwards. The billionaire stopped at the platform across from the stranger, and Dick tried to stay with him, but some invisible force took over his body and pushed him upwards onto the starting point several levels over the others. From there he stared downwards, watching miserably as his parents stepped into thin air.

They swung through the beginnings of the family routine, exchanging the same smiles and winks that they always had as they passed one another. The fact that he was waiting for the sound of the wires snapping didn't make it any less cringe-worthy when the moment arrived, and a sob escaped his throat as they crashed into the dirt. He hadn't seen it from this angle before; until now, he hadn't known it could look any worse than it had standing a few feet away on the ground. His gaze would have stayed riveted to their destroyed forms indefinitely had the two remaining men, who had been staring stolidly at one another since Bruce had taken up position, not leapt into their own show.

It was more battle than performance, Dick noted as he watched. Neither had much grace in the air – their motions wholly lacked the fluidity that the last two performers had shown, and at moments they looked more like they were on the monkey bars than a trapeze – but there was a determination in their actions that struck him. What should have been an offer of hands to swing from turned into a blow, and a purposefully swung foot struck back. _What are they doing?! They're going to knock each other off!_ he fretted. _Bruce…why did you jump out there? Who is this guy?_ _Why does he want to fight you? I don't understand…_

His guardian's hands seemed to slip, and a few of the audience members screamed. They caught just in time, but the unknown fighter was coming in again. A bar suddenly swung up to Dick, seeming to have materialized out of thin air, and he grasped it out of sheer habit. _…I have to help him! That bad guy will kill him otherwise!_ With that thought, he jumped, swinging across the open expanse and preparing to drop down to the next level when he was in position.

As he let go, he began to spin, executing a perfect quadruple somersault. The next bar smacked firmly against his palms, and a brief glance downwards informed him that both men were staring at him, mouths agape. He didn't dare assume that it was a sign that their brawl was over, and dropped another level, this time going into a straight dive in order to keep sight of the figure he was angling to save. The familiar _slap_ sounded as his fingers encircled his new support.

And then, for some reason, he was falling. Screams erupted in the stands, with several people covering their eyes and a couple outright bolting for the doors in order to save themselves from they knew must be coming. Below, both of the still-breathing adults reversed their swings into a collision course. Bruce, he was certain as he tumbled down with his stomach in his throat, was reaching for him, but was the other trying to help, or hinder?

He never found out, snapping awake with a gasp in his too-big bed. _That…I…Bruce. I want Bruce._ Scrambling to his feet, he rushed across the hallway. His fist was an inch from his guardian's door when he halted it, suddenly remembering the injunction he'd been given. _…He doesn't want me sleeping next to him anymore,_ he lowered his hand back to his side. _But- _It rose again, poised to knock. _Crud. I don't want to wake him up, but..._

He tapped quietly, then a little louder. Nothing stirred on the far side. _He went to bed, though, I thought, after he tucked me in…I know he said I need to sleep in my own bed, but…he wouldn't ignore me, would he?_ A massive pout formed. _…No. He was being weird, but he wouldn't do that. I just know he wouldn't. Even if he had to make me go back to my own bed, he'd at least open the door and talk to me. Maybe he's just really, really asleep._ He knocked again, hard this time, and waited expectantly to be let in.

The knob didn't move.

_…Oh._ _Well…maybe he's in the bathroom, and can't hear me? I could go in…_ He reached for the handle, then pulled back. _I don't want to do that. He didn't say I could just go in and out of his room whenever I wanted, and…and if he's mad at me for something, I don't want to make him madder._ He thumped down to the floor and leaned against the door frame, waiting. _If he's in there, he has to come out sometime. And if he's not in there, he has to go to sleep at some point, so…I'll just wait here. He didn't get super mad at me for that before, so he shouldn't this time, either. Besides, I need to talk to him. Who was that man in black clothes? And why was he fighting Bruce?_

His determination to stay awake until he could talk to his guardian wasn't enough to overpower his sleepiness for very long, and he drifted slowly into slumber. The next thing he knew, someone was shaking him gently, bidding him to wake up. "Mnph…Bruce?"he came to hopefully, only to find Alfred on one knee beside him. "Oh. Hi, Alfred."

"Good morning, young sir," the butler replied. "I'm sorry I didn't see you sooner. Are you all right?"

"I…" His gaze traveled to the master suite's carved doors. "I had a dream, and…and I wanted to talk to Bruce about it, but he already went to bed and he wouldn't answer the door when I knocked."

"Is that so? Do you know how long you've been out here?" _It had better have been since after he went downstairs,_ he thought balefully. _I only came up here at all because I wanted to check where the roof leaked at the back last spring; if I'd put it off, how long would you have slept here on this chilly floor before I noticed or you woke up of your own accord? As if that weren't bad enough, if he ignored you and then stepped over you…well…I don't know what I'll do._ He really didn't; not knowing for certain what was going on inside of his elder charge's head, he was extremely hesitant to actually enter the fray, fearful that something he might say or do to help might only hinder.

"…I dunno," the boy shrugged, looking back at him. "Sorry."

"That's quite all right. No harm done at all. Are you cold? You must be, after sitting out in this drafty hallway."

"Um…no. I'm warm enough. But…is Bruce still asleep?"

"I'm afraid not, Master Dick. He left for work a short while ago." _An hour earlier than usual,_ he didn't add. _Don't ask me why, I've no clue. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all._

"…Oh." His lower lip pulled back between his teeth, and Alfred could see his jaw working, gnawing at it gently as he puzzled. _…Well, maybe that means he wasn't in there at all when I was knocking. He could have already been downstairs. I don't know how long I've been here, after all…_

_For god's sake, man, do something,_ Alfred berated himself_._ "…Would you like to come downstairs and have something to eat? Perhaps while you breakfast you might share your dream with me. I know I'm not the person you hoped to discuss it with," he added softly, "but I've a willing ear, and I've listened to enough of Master Wayne's night terrors over the years that I've gotten quite skilled at making them seem less frightening."

_…That makes sense, I guess,_ Dick considered. "…Okay," he nodded finally, standing up. 

In the kitchen, he took up a seat at the breakfast bar, setting Elinor on the chair beside him. Then he watched as the butler pulled a pan from the drying rack and moved it onto the stove before cracking two eggs into it. "How do you like them?" was queried.

"Ah…scrambled?"

"Certainly," he stirred them up accordingly, adding a splash of milk while they cooked. "Let's see," Alfred went on. "The leftover potatoes from earlier, I think, and…do you favor honeydew, Master Dick?"

"…Is that the green kind?"

"It is indeed."

"Yes," he nodded. "But I don't like the other one. Cantaloupe. Uck," his nose wrinkled.

_Somehow,_ the Englishman mused as he began to reheat the potatoes and spoon out chunks of fruit, _I feel as if I shouldn't be surprised that your food tastes run so close to Master Wayne's. I wonder if there's anything you like that he disfavors…_ "Here we are," he handed the plate over. "And a glass of milk," he passed along as well.

"Thank you. This…this is a lot of food," Dick swallowed. He wasn't really hungry, even though the eggs _did_ smell good, but the last thing he wanted to do was offend Alfred. _He doesn't even seem to be mad at me. I must have just upset Bruce…but I still don't know how…_

"You just do your very best on it, and we'll see where you're at then, all right?"

"Okay. Should…should I wait until after I eat to tell you my dream?"

"That would be best, young sir. Then there's no chance of you accidentally speaking with food in your mouth."

"Oh. Good point." With that, he dug in, eating slowly until about half of the hot items and a few pieces of the melon had vanished. "…I'm really full," he confessed.

Alfred glanced at his plate. _Hmm. I had hoped it wasn't that serious, but evidently it is._ "Can you take just one more bite of each thing? That shouldn't be too taxing, should it?"

"Um…I'll try," he agreed cautiously. It took almost five minutes, but he managed three more forkfuls. "Okay, now I'm _really,_ really full."

"Very well, young sir," the butler conceded. _I can hardly force the child to eat, not without being cruel, and I daresay he's experiencing enough of that already._ "Now, then," he began, setting the plate aside to take care of when there were fewer pressing issues to be resolved. "I've an idea. Why don't I pour us both a cup of tea, and we can sit right over there in the corner while you tell me about your dream?"

"I like tea," Dick nodded.

_Well, there's one thing Master Wayne abhors that you don't. I wonder what else there is…_

They were settled in less than ten minutes later, and Alfred bade him tell all about his sleeping visions. The dream had fuzzed a little in his brain, but the essentials were still there. He outlined them slowly, frowning as he stopped every few sentences to sip at his beverage. "…And then I was falling," he concluded, shivering slightly as his stomach tried to creep back up at the recollection, "and I _know_ Bruce was trying to catch me, but…I don't know what the other guy was doing. He _might_ have been trying to, too, but…he might have been going for Bruce, trying to knock him off while he was distracted. I didn't get a chance to find out."

The Englishman had been biting back a grimace ever since the black-clad man had come into the story, and now he hid the expression behind his cup. _Bruce and Batman, waging war in mid-air and also the only ones in position to stop the boy's fall. I suppose the rest may all have just been trappings of Master Dick's own mind, but somehow I feel as if the order in which the five of them were stacked on the platforms matters. It makes sense that you separated them, since you naturally don't know that they are one and the same, but how did you manage to get such a decent idea of what Batman looks like? Hmm…that bears further thought. _"Tell me, young sir," he ventured slowly, "…who do you think the other man you mentioned is? The one in black?"

"I…I don't know," he answered. "It was really weird, Alfred. If Bruce put on black clothes and a funny ski mask like that guy was wearing, they'd be identical." He frowned suddenly. "…Bruce isn't a bank robber or anything, right? I mean, I know I've been to his office and stuff, but that guy looked like a bank robber's supposed to look and…well…he has a lot of money…what's so funny?" he asked quizzically.

"Not a thing, Master Dick," the butler cleared his throat and stifled his chuckles. _Master Wayne, a bank robber. Oh, my…I'd forgotten how amusing the conclusions children draw when they lack essential knowledge can be. _"But I assure you, he's not a bank robber. Nor any other type of criminal."

"Oh. That's good," he looked relieved. "I wouldn't want him to be a bad guy. Although I don't really know how he _could_ be, when he's been so nice to me…Alfred?"

"Yes, young sir?"

"Um…" he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then set his cup down, folded his hands, and gave the man a serious look. "Did I do something wrong?"

"…I'm sorry?" _What are you talking about?_ he narrowed his eyes.

"Well…I think maybe Bruce was mad at me last night. I had a bad dream – not that one, but the one that's just…you know…about my p-parents…and I was outside his door because that's where I wait when I need to talk to him. He came upstairs, but…he made me sleep in my own bed. And it was like he was afraid to touch me. He said it was because of CPS, but I don't think that was all of it. Then he didn't answer his door…" His gaze slowly fell back to the table as he spoke the last few words, and the butler would have sworn he heard a faint sniffle. "I know he might already have been downstairs then, but…I just…if I _did_ do something, could you tell me what it is? I thought about it last night, and I can't figure it out. I want to fix it. I don't want him to be mad at me anymore."

Alfred leaned forward over the table. "Master Dick," he said solemnly, "Master Wayne is not angry with you." _He's angry with himself. I am absolutely positive that what you just said happened last night was torture for him. The way he's been coddling you, he would never cut off physical contact like you described unless he was truly and deeply confused. I wish I could tell you why he's so addled, dear child, but giving you the details of his tragedy and my mistakes can't possibly be of use. Barring that, I can at least give you a good enough excuse that you neither question his strange behavior nor feel too rejected._ "This is a very busy time of the year for him at his work. I'm sure he didn't mean for you to think that he was upset at you; so far as I'm aware, you've done nothing to make him feel that way. Give it a little time, and things should get better." _They'd better. It's been rather a long time since I tackled anyone, but Master Wayne is tempting me horribly with all of this. Failing to be supportive was what damaged him the last time he was this distraught, however; yelling will only do the same thing all over again, and I'll not repeat those mistakes. Not with him, and not with the boy, either._

"…Okay," he conceded, not fully believing the butler but too desperate to believe that Bruce would act normal again soon to argue. _Alfred knows him. He's just busy. That's all. It's nothing._ After the way things had been for the past three days, though, the sudden distance still hurt. "…Alfred?" he queried once more, swirling the small amount of liquid in the bottom of his cup around.

"Yes, young sir?"

"…Who do _you_ think the stranger in my dream was?"

_Oh, hell. _"…I'm afraid I can't cast even the slightest light on the subject," he shook his head. It was technically true; if Bruce didn't want the boy to know about Batman, he was bound to keep from revealing it. _I hate skirting the truth,_ _especially when it would be so good for him to know..._

"…Darn. I was really hoping you might know." Sighing, he stood up from the table. "…Can I help you with stuff later, after I take a bath?"

"You wish to help me with…chores, young sir?" he raised an eyebrow. _An unusual offer from a child. Master Wayne never made one as such. Perhaps it has something to do with their very different upbringings; Master Dick, I'm sure, was expected to help with tasks about the circus despite his youth. In addition, I imagine he may not wish to be alone right now, between his dream and Master Wayne's distancing of himself. Poor child; I wish I could do more for you, but…well. I'll do what I can._

Dick shrugged. "I don't mind." _It's better than being alone. I'd be okay in the library, but…it's on the other side the entryway, and I really don't want to cross that alone right now. But I also don't want to be a baby and ask you to take me when I've been there like six times now. So maybe if I just follow you around until you go over there for something, I can get across the front and not have to tell you why I don't like it._

_It will do no harm, and he is rather delightful to be with. Besides, perhaps a little work will help keep his mind off of things. _"If that will make you happy, Master Dick," Alfred agreed slowly, "it would be my honor."


	33. Chapter 33

**Author's Note: Sorry about the gap yesterday, I had a busy night on Friday and wasn't able to get the chapter written in time. Happy reading!**

After a couple of hours of dusting and window-washing, Dick was finally able to retrieve his book from the study. In the interest of not getting stuck on the far side of the house from where Alfred indicated he would be working the rest of the day, he decided to follow him back across the foyer and settled in the den, the butler having released him from his volunteer cleaning graciously. Curled up in the corner of the couch where Bruce had sat on Saturday, he tried to continue his adventures with Captain Nemo, but he was distracted.

…_Why would I picture a strange man in black fighting Bruce?_ he pondered. _Let's see…he looked like a bank robber, especially with that ski mask, but Alfred says that can't be it. Black clothes…maybe he's in black because I don't know who he is? So he's mysterious? Or…is he supposed to be a bad guy? That could be it, bad guys like to dress in black…the bad guy in the movie Bruce and I watched yesterday – what was his name, Darth…Vader? Yeah. Darth Vader – he wore black, and his head was covered…but I don't think Bruce was supposed to be fighting Darth Vader, that's just silly. And that guy looked nothing like my social worker, or Kevin, or anyone from the Center, so…it can't be that, either. Huh._

Closing the book and setting it aside, he pulled his knees up and clasped his hands between them, staring blankly towards the television on the opposite wall. _…Wait. That guy looked just like Bruce would in all black, I know that. And…and that look in his eyes last night, I thought he was making a big decision and having trouble with it. So...the man in black could be the other side of the argument Bruce is having with himself right now._ He frowned. _Okay, that makes sense, but…what are they arguing about? And why is second Bruce's face covered up? That's weird, especially when they're obviously the same person when you put them next to each other like they were on the trapeze. This doesn't make any sense…Bruce is fighting with himself, about something important, maybe…_ He reflected on their location, and the distinct lack of grace that both of the dueling parties had displayed for aerial acrobatics. …_Maybe even something life-threatening? Bruce almost fell…but why wouldn't he be able to see his own face? Maybe it was to keep the other people, like me and the audience, from knowing who he was fighting? That's strange, though, when he left __his__ face uncovered…huh. I guess maybe that isn't it. Maybe it's someone who just looks a lot like Bruce. Could he have a twin or something? Maybe he's fighting a twin. Gosh…this is really complicated…_

Still musing, he slumped against the arm of the couch and slipped into a fitful sleep. When Alfred came in a short while later to announce that lunch was ready and found his younger charge as such, he couldn't help the smile that crept onto his features. _You look so very like him right now,_ he mused to himself. _Asleep on the couch, a book at your side, trying to catch up after a night of bad dreams…it's a bit frightening, really, considering that you aren't his biological child._ He debated for a moment. _…I hate to wake you if you're not disturbed, but you simply must eat. Well…I had planned to dust in here today in any case. Perhaps I'll take care of that and give you just a few more minutes._ Satisfied with his judgment, he turned the television news on at a low volume, partly to give himself a little background noise by which to straighten up and partly to help slowly rouse the boy.

Dick had stirred slightly when the butler entered the room, and now that words invaded his already sketchy slumber he opened his eyes. The television was directly in front of him, and as such was the first thing he focused on. As he did, the news anchor informed his viewers that a rare video of Gotham's vigilante protector had surfaced, captured by a corner store security camera when Batman swept in to stop a jewelry store heist down the block. _That's the guy Bruce said is maybe looking into…into…my case,_ he straightened, paying attention as the footage rolled. _If he stopped someone from robbing a store, he __must__ be a good guy, just like I thought. I wonder what he looks like…?_

The action took place near the very top of the camera's view, and it was distant at best, but despite those factors the picture was fairly crisp. Even so, it was difficult to make out the figure of interest, who exited the jewelry shop, took two steps, and then seemed to simply vanish into the shadows. The news station had helpfully drawn a red circle around the man, drawing the attention of their viewers to the right area, and when they replayed the moment, something clicked in the boy's head. _…The guy in my dream didn't have a cape, but…that little square bit on Batman that's not black, that could be like where the ski mask was cut out on my guy. It kind of looks the same, at least, and that's a weird area to be cut out. I wish the picture was closer, so I could see better…_ "Alfred?" he ventured softly, still staring at the screen.

The butler jumped, having had his back turned the entire time and thus being unaware that the boy had awakened. "Yes, Master Dick?" he queried.

"…Do you think Batman could have been the man in black, in my dream?"

_Well, this is potentially problematic, to say the least._ "What on earth makes you think that he was, young sir?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could.

"He's on the news, and…he kind of looks like him," he gestured to the screen. "Don't you think?"

Sensing that it was time for damage control, Alfred put down his cleaning supplies and moved over to look at the screen, where the station was getting as much mileage out of their 'exclusive' footage as they conceivably could. "Hmm…well, it's rather difficult to tell, I think," he opined slowly, peering at it. "He's little more than a blur, after all. And I don't recall you mentioning your mystery man wearing a cape. Did he?"

"Um…no," Dick shook his head. "But…that little bit at the bottom of his face, that looks like the way the ski mask was."

"Does it indeed? Still, though…" he pursed his lips pensively, "why on earth would Master Wayne be fighting Batman? Master Wayne is no criminal, as we discussed earlier, and Batman goes after criminals, as you see," he nodded at the television.

"…That's true. But…" he thought hard. "…Bruce said he heard Batman was interested in what happened to my par-…I mean, in what happened last weekend. Maybe that's why? But that doesn't explain why they'd fight, Bruce wants the bad guys caught, too…" He dropped back against the couch, stymied. "Alfred, my dream makes no sense," he lamented.

_Thank goodness for small miracles,_ the butler didn't say out loud. _Although I am rather shocked that he mentioned Batman to you. But then, perhaps he thought it was a good way to create a distance in your mind between Batman and himself. _"Dreams frequently don't, Master Dick," he commiserated. "Yours seems to be quite unsolvable, so there's little use in stressing yourself about it."

"Yeah, but…I really want to know who that person was, Alfred. I mean…they were trying to hurt Bruce. What if someone tries to hurt him in real life, but he doesn't know because I can't figure out who I'm seeing?" he asked, eyes wide and worried. "I don't want him to get hurt because of me."

…_The worry you are already causing this child, Master Wayne, both astounds and angers me._ "Even if your dream was prophecy, young sir," he said gently, "which to be frank I rather doubt – such things as foretellings of the future are much touted, but very, very rarely have even the slightest credence to them – there's no reason to worry. As Master Wayne himself was quick to point out before your arrival here, I know a fair bit about what goes on in this house and in his life. So far as I'm aware, he is not currently engaged or likely to be engaged in battle with anyone else." _Although he may find himself in trouble with me if he doesn't quit this flip-flopping regarding you._

Dick frowned at the man's discrediting of prophecy, but didn't think it would be either polite or helpful to point out that he'd grown up calling a professional seer 'Tanti.' "…Oh. So…you would know if he was in trouble?"

"The odds are very good that I would be aware of any impending doom," he nodded gravely.

"Well…" he shifted, "I guess I feel a _little_ better about that, but…" His eyes went back to the screen, where the program had moved on to a financial report. "It's still weird that someone who was dressed kind of like Batman showed up in my dream right after Bruce and I talked about him."

"That may very well be _why_ the mystery person's clothing was so close to Batman's," Alfred suggested slyly. "The things that have occurred or been discussed during the previous day often make their way into our sleep."

"…But I'd never seen a picture of Batman until just now," Dick realized. "So…why would I pick those clothes out for the mystery guy? That's…isn't that kind of a big coincidence?"

"Well, I suppose it would be, young sir, but it's entirely possible that you've seen a picture of Batman elsewhere and simply don't remember it. A passing glance in a newspaper, or on a department store television…much of what we see every day doesn't register with our consciousness. Besides, as you said before, there are other differences in their clothing, for instance the lack of a cape in your dream. No, Master Dick, it's a good try, and you defended your case admirably well, but I don't think Batman was the mysterious person you dreamt of." Seeing that the child didn't look wholly convinced, he changed the subject. "Regardless, however, your lunch is ready in the kitchen. If you'd like to sit at the breakfast bar again rather than in the dining room, you may."

After receiving an affirmative reply and leading the boy into the kitchen, Alfred heaved a silent sigh. _Hopefully I've put that to bed, at least,_ he thought fervently. _Although, the fact that he envisioned Master Wayne and Batman as separate entities is encouraging. I suppose the implied distance he must have utilized during your discussion did its work. Still, I'm glad you seem to have semi-relinquished the thought of the man in black being Batman; you noted earlier that your mystery figure looked like Master Wayne in build and size, and had I agreed with you on a similarity to Batman you may well have jumped straight to the correct conclusion, despite having pictured them as separate in your dream. I really don't know how long he's going to be able to keep from telling you where he goes at night, especially once you adjust enough to want to explore the house… _

For the time being, though, the child seemed diverted by the food that was placed in front of him. He'd expressed an interest in Alfred's own childhood while they were cleaning, and now the butler chatted idly about boat rides on the Thames and a school trip to Stonehenge, all with the goal of leading him away from further thoughts about Batman being the man in black. He was just about to say something about the fact that Dick was, once again, merely picking at his food when the phone rang. _I hope it isn't the blasted media again,_ he cursed as he moved to answer it. He'd arranged for an answering service to field all calls to the manor in the hopes of weeding out those looking for a story, but the call center workers were only human, and given the number of interruptions they'd been receiving before they came online it wouldn't have shocked him were one of the vultures to slip through. "…Wayne residence," he answered crisply.

"Alfred."

"Master Wayne?" His eyes narrowed. _You sound as if you've been crying, or near to. _"Is there a problem, sir?"

"I…I'm not going to be home until late tonight. Really late." The gulp on the other end of the line was audible. "After Dick's bedtime."

"…Ah. I see," the butler's mouth turned down. _You might at least tuck the poor child in, no matter what your own quibbling may be at the moment. _"That is unfortunate, to say the least."

"Yeah. Well," his voice became taut, "there's no choice. It's business."

"You can't bring it home with you, by any chance? I know Master Dick was quite anxious to see you this evening."

"That's not possible. I have futures to deal with, and I can't concentrate when he's around."

"Indeed, sir? Well. I must have misread the situation these past two nights." _You recall, surely, how you did your paperwork while he read silently nearby, not bothering you in the least but content merely to be close,_ he steamed. "But very well. I will take care of the necessary duties."

"Fine." A pause. "See you later."

…_I understand your hesitancy to get too close to him, Master Wayne,_ Alfred ached to counsel. _I truly do. You're already closer to him than I've seen you become with anyone in nearly twenty years. But if you keep this up, after the way you've been treating him, you're going to hurt him. He's already confused, perhaps as confused as you yourself are. I know you don't want that, so pull your head out of where you've stuck it and get back to taking care of him. You were doing an admirable job until last night. I don't know if you saw something on patrol, perhaps, that frightened you off of him, but…this is unacceptable._ "…Until later, sir," he said instead.

"Alfred? Is he okay?" Dick asked as soon as the receiver was back in the cradle. "He didn't get in a fight or something, did he?"

_Not for the past twelve hours, young sir, no._ "Of course he wasn't in a fight, Master Dick," he soothed. "He was simply calling to inform us that he will be detained at his office this evening. He really is very busy this time of year."

"But…is he going to be back in time to tuck me in?" the question tumbled out of his mouth. "I…I know we talked about my dream, but…I still really need to talk to _him_. No offense," he added.

"None taken at all," the butler denied as he shifted back to stand across the counter from the boy, whose utensils had now been fully abandoned. "I understand that you and Master Wayne share certain life experiences that I do not. I would hardly begrudge your needing to speak with him about such things as nightmares. However…" he trailed off. _Good lord, you look about ready to burst into tears. I can't tell you he won't be home in time, I simply can't._ "…You should know that he said he will try his best to be home in time."

"Can I stay up and wait for him if he's not?"

"…He requested that you go to bed on time regardless of whether he's home or not. It's important that we establish a regular schedule for you," he kept talking, turning his eyes away as a trail of moisture started down the still slightly discolored cheek. "That way you're better adjusted to begin school come next fall."

"…Oh. School. Right," he said despondently. _Who cares about school? I can't warn Bruce about the man in black if I don't see him, and that's way more important than school. I should have asked to talk to him while he was on the phone with Alfred…I don't want to call back and interrupt his work, though, that will just mean it takes him longer to get it all done and come back. _"Can I go read some more, please?" he almost whispered, suddenly desperate to get away.

"…Are you sure you can't eat just a little more?" the butler asked. _…I'd hoped that you would eat more than half of what I put before you, but I imagine any appetite you had has fled since the news I gave you._

"I really can't," he stared at the counter and shook his head.

"…Very well, then, young sir. Perhaps I'll bring you some cookies in a little while, hmm?" he suggested, giving the boy an encouraging little smile when he finally looked up. "Once your lunch has had time to settle."

"…Okay. Thanks." Dick tried to return the expression, but merely ended up producing a sick grimace before shuffling off back to the den.

The rest of the day trickled by slowly, and by nine o'clock Alfred was absolutely dreading what had to occur next. "…Master Dick?" he voiced quietly from the entrance to the den. _…I'm sorry,_ he wanted to add. _I'm sorry that he's being like this. I only wish there was more I could do to alleviate the befuddlement and hurt that it's no doubt causing you._

"Um…hi, Alfred," the boy replied, turning with a slightly fearful glimmer in his eyes. "…What's up?"

"I'm afraid it's time for bed," he answered gently.

"…Oh. Ah…do you think I could just…finish this chapter? I've only got, like, two more pages," he begged.

…_Oh, to hell with it. Two pages won't hurt anything._ "Of course you may, young sir. I wouldn't want to cut off your journey mid-melee," he nodded. "I'll return for you in, say, five minutes?"

"…It might take a little longer than that?"

He stifled a sympathetic expression. "Well, ten or fifteen minutes, then. Will that suffice?"

"Sure," the child looked relieved. "Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course."

Twenty minutes later, the Englishman returned to the den. "…I fear we cannot delay the inevitable any longer," he informed him kindly.

"I…he's not back yet, is he?"

"…No, Master Dick. He hasn't returned as of yet. But perhaps he'll look in on you later, or you'll see him in the morning, hmm?" It was unlikely that either would occur, he was certain, but if he could just lead the boy on with little tidbits of hope until Bruce's confusion and fear blew over, he might be able to keep the boy's feelings from being too badly injured.

…_Not if he doesn't want to see me,_ Dick thought sadly, setting his book aside on the couch. "Is it okay if I leave this here?" he queried.

"…Why don't you bring it upstairs with you? I could use a bit of a rest; I'd be happy to read the next few pages aloud, if you like." _It's the least I can do to make up for his foolishness._

"Really? That…that would be super nice of you, Alfred. I'd like that," the child gave him a tiny smile of gratitude.

"Well, let's get on our way, then. Captain Nemo won't wait all night for us to come aboard."

A short while later Dick was changed and under the covers. "…Alfred?" he asked just as the butler was about to pick up the story.

"Yes?"

"Um…I was wondering…well…where does Bruce go after I go to bed? I mean…he doesn't go to sleep, I know that, so…where does he go?"

"He goes a variety of places, child," Alfred answered, smoothing the quilt out over boy for the third time so that he wouldn't have to look him in the face while he fudged the truth. "Many evenings he goes to social events, balls, fundraisers, and the like. Other nights he stays in, but those are very few and far between."

"So…that's a lot of places to have to go. Doesn't he get tired? I'd get tired. Fundraisers sound really, really boring."

"Master Wayne is involved in a great many things; his presence is frequently requested at parties and the like, and as a man of importance it is difficult to turn down any of them without causing offense. He does get quite tired," he confessed. "…And he also finds fundraisers quite banal."

"…Really? That's funny, that we both think they'd be boring."

"Really, indeed. Perhaps someday he'll take you along to one in order to keep him amused."

"…I guess he'd probably have to want to be around me again before that will happen," came out in a tiny voice.

"You _must_ stop that line of thought, young sir," he ordered firmly. "He _does_ want you here, I assure you. I know his attitude seems to have changed today, but he's simply very occupied at work. Things will revert to the way they should be soon."

"…Do you promise? Because honestly, Alfred…he wasn't busy yesterday, when we spent all that time in his office eating Szechuan and watching a movie. So how come it's crazy at work for him all of sudden?"

…_I see I've another cursedly observant child on my hands._ "The business world has strange fluctuations like this sometimes," he covered. "I don't pretend to understand it, myself. But I can promise that, no matter how long this work of his takes, you will always have a place in this house." _I will see to that, even if he does not,_ he swore silently. "Can you remember that for me?"

It all sort of made sense in his head, but it didn't carry the ring of truth that he wanted it to. Still, what more could he do but believe the man sitting beside him, who had already proved himself reliable and trustworthy? Until morning, at least, there was little more he could do but turn the same questions over and over again in his head, and Alfred would only worry, he was fairly certain, if he knew that that was exactly what Dick planned on doing. "…Okay," he agreed. "I'll try."

"Good," the butler said steadily. _Thank god._ "Now, let's see where you left our intrepid voyagers, shall we?"


	34. Chapter 34

After he ended his conversation with Alfred, Bruce laid his head down on his arms and let a few tears leak into his sleeves. _This is __wrong__, don't you see that? He's not going to understand why I won't be home to tuck him in, and he shouldn't __have__ to! It would be one thing if I really did have work to do tonight, or even if everything had been normal last night, but he thinks I'm mad at him, damn it! This is only going to reinforce that and make him feel unwanted, don't you understand?_

_Alfred will smooth the waters,_ Batman huffed impatiently. _He'll tell him that you have to work late, that this is a normal occurrence, and that you aren't mad at him. What would you do differently than that?_

_Uh, let's see, not being a total jackass leaps to mind, _the billionaire snapped back.

_ That would defeat the purpose. Besides, it's your own fault that we have to take such drastic measures. If you'd policed yourself earlier and kept yourself from becoming so attached, this wouldn't be nearly as painful as it is, for either you or him._

_ And how was I supposed to do that? You __know__ he gets to me. He gets to you, too, even if you won't admit as much. You like how strong he is. You like the way he bounces back from pain and insults in a way that I've never been able to. And you like that he wants to help you find his parents' killer. Don't even bother lying to me, I know what he said about wanting to help Batman piqued your interest._

_ …It's pointless for me to argue about that when you're obviously aware of it. But that doesn't change the fact that you've grown too close to him._

_ Well why the hell didn't you stop me before now, then?_

_ I __tried__! You refused to listen to reason! I wish it wasn't necessary to hurt the child. I truly do. But it is. Do you think I like forcing you to do things that are this distasteful? Do you honestly think that?_

_ Yeah. I do. I think you're enjoying the hell out of this._

A beat passed._ …You're wrong. _

_Of course I am. I'm wrong, and you're right, just like always, and that's why you're forcing me to do this. That's why you're forcing me to push away, to __hurt__, a child that I…that I lo-…that I…god damn it!_

_ You can't even __think__ it. Do you even recall what that emotion feels like?_

_ …I didn't think I did, not for a long time. Not until him. But I __do__ remember; he reminded me. And even if I can't think the actual word, that doesn't mean that I can't still feel that way about him._

_ You do __not__ feel that way about him. I assure you, you are a long way from that level of…entrapment. It just seems more intense than it really is because it's been so long since you even began to feel as such for someone. And with good reason,_ Batman added.

_At the time it was a good reason, yes. You're right. At the time it made sense. But…times change. People change._ He paused. _…I've changed._

_ That doesn't dispel my duty to protect you. _

_ I'm not a child._

_ Even adults need protection from time to time, and frequently from themselves. _

_ Yeah, you really live that philosophy, too, don't you, Mr. 'I don't need anyone's help'? Great example to set._

_ …I am different._ There was a note of sadness in the thought. _This has always been a lonely job. Alfred played a role in your protection, to be sure, but not emotionally. That was always my task, and mine alone._

_ 'Different'? Don't flatter yourself. You're not different, you're just __wrong__._

A stony silence fell between them. _…You will work until nine o'clock. Then we will return home, and commence patrol. If it will be of consolation to you,_ he grimaced, _we will go to Newtown, or perhaps search out information on Margine Randall. Will helping the boy's cases ease your discomfort?_

_ Not really, no. What would 'ease my discomfort' would be going home on time, apologizing copiously for your world-class fucktardedness, and then letting him sleep wherever and however he needs to in order to keep from having nightmares. But I don't suppose that's likely to happen, is it, your royal douchebag?_

_ …Juvenile insults are neither becoming in a man of your breeding nor effective against me. If anything, your usage of such immature phraseology only convinces me more thoroughly that you are in no way ready to attempt the sort of close relationship you wish to establish with the boy. You will work, you will act normally, and then we will go home and commence patrol. _

_ This is unjust._

_ Who are you to lecture me on justice? Such judgments fall under my purview._

_ Oh, well, you're doing a __hell__ of a job,_ Bruce sneered sarcastically. _…Did it ever occur to you that letting you make the calls in that realm doesn't mean that I don't have a sense of justice of my own?_

_ …I assumed as much, yes, but we've always more or less agreed on such things. That's why we've never had this sort of problem before. You used to listen when I spoke,_ he accused.

_I still __do__ listen when you speak, so long as you aren't talking shit. Which you are, on this issue._

_ I know why you feel that way, but this is for your own safety._

_ …It's for __your__ safety,_ the billionaire realized suddenly. _You're afraid that I won't need you anymore if I learn how to l-…to care about people again. _

_ …That's only partially true. I'm willing to die in order to keep you from experiencing the pain of loss again; but in this situation, that will not be necessary._

_ Would you die to let me be truly happy?_

_That__ is not my appointed task. _

_ …Fine. Then I guess I know what I have to do, because you obviously aren't going to help me. _At that, Bruce fell silent. He had no idea how he was going to best the Bat, but he'd be damned if he let Dick down. _I'm trying, kiddo,_ he thought to himself, closing Batman out. He knew he couldn't block him for long – they'd worked together too many years for that – but for now, he needed a moment to stew, and plan, and mourn the disappointment he knew he was causing the child he'd taken in. _I swear to you, Dick, I'm going to figure out a way to make him see. He's right, I can't do without him, and frankly neither can Gotham, but…he's been in control for too long. I don't want to be alone anymore, and you…you're giving me that opportunity. I'm not going to waste it._

His solution didn't come all through the long evening, however. He ordered Szechuan up again, Batman grumbling at the obvious connection to the boy but unwilling to object too strenuously when there was Gong Bao on the line. He was made to stay until nine-thirty as retribution for his choice of cuisine, but he let it go; Dick would have been in bed before he got home in any case, so the extra half hour was pointless.

A torrential spring downpour began when he was halfway home, ruling out a trip to Newtown for the simple reason that all of the people whom might be able to give him information were bound to be hunkered down inside. Not knowing the neighboring city the way he did Gotham, it would be a crapshoot at best to try and seek out knowledge by going building to building. _Randall it is, then,_ he sighed as he parked in the garage and prepared to dash to the house. _Let's see what that snake has up her sleeve._

Alfred met him in the foyer, lips pursed. "Master Wayne," he greeted tersely.

_Oh, hell, that really doesn't help, Alfred,_ Bruce groaned. _I don't like it either, can't you see that?_ "…I'm going straight downstairs," came out of his mouth instead

"I imagined you would." He took his coat, hung it where it belonged, and then picked up his shoes, grimacing at the mud caking the edges of the soles. _At least he wiped his feet thoroughly enough to keep too much from tracking in, but I'll still have to mop again tomorrow. _He said none of that to the other man, however, simply turning and making to carry the dirtied footwear upstairs.

"Uh…Alfred?" The billionaire stood in his socks, staring after the butler. _…No offer to bring down coffee? No 'how was your day'? No bone-chilling lecture laden with that ascerbic British disdain that still makes American skin shiver, even after a quarter of a millennium of freedom? Give me that, at least!_

Halfway up, the Englishman paused and turned back. "My apologies, sir," he bowed as if his spine had been starched. "Have a good night." With that, and nothing more, he continued upwards, leaving his elder charge gaping after him. _Well, my boy, if you're going to dish out neglect, I suppose you ought to be reminded how it feels to receive it,_ he mused, moving through the master suite to the closet. He had been pondering how best to relay his extreme displeasure ever since he'd looked up from the book to find the child fast asleep, his lips still bearing a slight pout; finally he'd decided that he didn't dare attempt to lecture the younger man for fear of going into a full-blown rage. _And that's not the example to set for either of them,_ he sighed, setting the shoes on a metal tray to dry so that the mud could be broken from them. _So you'll have to bear a cold shoulder until you figure yourself out. I don't know how you can even stand yourself right now, knowing the pain you're causing that sweet, innocent creature._

In the entryway, Bruce stood, stunned and more than a little hurt. _…You see what you've done __now__?!_ he stormed. _First you make me hurt Dick, and now you've got Alfred so pissed at me that he's not even going to get angry! And you __know__ that's bad, he can almost always manage to at least tell me I'm being an idiot!_

_What I see,_ Batman mused, _is that Alfred has also let the boy in. Interesting; he's normally almost as well-guarded as you are. This child…he's formidable. He has an impressive talent for drawing people in, I have to give him that._

…_Wait, now you're __appreciating__ him?!_

_I can appreciate the skills of others while still viewing them as a threat. You do the same thing in your business dealings._

_So it doesn't change a goddamn thing. Fuck!_

_The mission has always, and must always, come first._

_The mission is helping him not have the same post-trauma experience that I did! You're abandoning that mission, not serving it! And yes, I know my tendency to fall asleep with him has kept us from his cases and from a few patrols, but that's no excuse for your neglect of the __primary__ mission!_

…_I don't think you understand. I don't know __how__ that is the case, but evidently it is. The primary mission is keeping you from being destroyed by the pain of lost love. That has been my paramount duty since the very beginning. The only way the boy plays into that is as a potential threat._

Alone in the entryway, Bruce started at that stark reminder. _…Maybe I'm willing to take that chance,_ he whispered to himself.

_You obviously are. But I don't believe you're ready to do so, no matter how much you might want to._

_It isn't your decision._

_Of course it is. It's my entire purpose for being._

Frustrated, and with little else of use to wield against the Bat, Bruce shook his head and moved down the hall towards the clock. _We're still not done with this._

_I know you think that, but this matter is already decided._

_Whatever._

Settled in front of a computer a few minutes later, the fray subsided temporarily in favor of investigating. He'd had every intention of looking into the social worker's past on Sunday night, but between an extended patrol and musing on Newtown it hadn't happened. Now he searched for her in every set of records he could think to try, including CPS' own. By the end of the night, he felt sorry for the young woman that Margine Randall had once been; even understanding where she was coming from, however, didn't make him hate the bitch she'd become any less.

It had been a car accident that took her parents and an elder sister from her, he learned from an old news article. Judging from the CPS records – thankfully digitized all the way back to 1970 – she'd been shuffled through a few relatives in the months that followed, none of whom kept her for very long. There were no notes as to why, but whatever the reasons she was a permanent ward of the state by age thirteen. No attempt, at least not that he could find, was ever made by anyone to adopt or foster her; she simply languished in the system.

Despite that, she was one of CPS' success stories, managing to keep good grades despite a list of transfers that suggested she was being moved between group homes roughly every two months. She checked into a shelter on her eighteenth birthday, the last note in her juvenile file stated. The only mention of her in the successive three years was that she was awarded a GED.

Then, on her twenty-first birthday, her name appeared in the civil court records as being granted access to the monies left behind by her parents. Held in trust since their deaths, it represented a tidy sum for the time, and he surmised that it was those funds that she utilized to enroll at Gotham University the next fall. Her college record, he had to admit, wasn't shabby; by working a full-time student job, she was able to supplement her inheritance enough to attain a bachelor's in criminal justice with a minor in psychology. She was accepted into a small law school upstate, which jived with what Bergman had said about her having attempted to become a custody lawyer. Her grades were good…for the first semester. After that, they dropped precipitously, and by mid-summer she was back in Gotham, a freshly-minted social worker.

_…What happened between fall and spring? She didn't just run out of money; that wouldn't explain the grades issue._ It took another hour of searching, but he finally found what he was looking for, a short blurb in police blotter of the university's newspaper. _Law student Margine Randall reported to campus authorities that she was assaulted following a party last Friday night, _he read._ She stated that she was unable to recall approximately eight hours of the evening and the following day, and knows only that she traveled from the party location to her lodging, some two miles away. This is the third in a string of reported assaults of this nature since the beginning of the spring term; police are currently investigating._

…_Okay, assuming she was date-raped, that would certainly explain her grades,_ he concluded. _Especially if she didn't have anyone to turn to, or if she wasn't given a sense of safety afterwards._ He skimmed through both the campus and local papers for the next year, but found nothing to indicate that the responsible party was caught. A few more attacks were reported in March and April, and then after graduation they seemed to stop. _But by then it was too late; they may well have asked her to leave with the way her scores plummeted. So she comes back to Gotham bearing a grudge, maybe…but how long has she been doing this? And why take it out on the children?_

Randall's career with CPS spanned nearly a quarter century, and the records for her cases took two hours to go through even when he focused only on those from after the passage of the law that allowed children to be placed in detention facilities overnight in the event of a bed shortage. _She does this a lot,_ he frowned. _…But always when there's a legitimate reason. _Having established – much to his dismay – that she was acting legally, he turned to the children themselves. _…They all look somewhat alike,_ he realized as he pulled up their file photos one after the other. _Slight builds, dark hair, light eyes. And all male; she's never sent a female child on a detention center overnight._ His mouth tightened. _…She's projecting her rapist onto the kids. _

Just to be certain, he re-read the campus paper's police blotter. None of the victims could give a description of their attacker, but there was a report of a thin, dark haired man lingering near where the last girl was found in a state of dishevelment. _Her recollection of him might not even be conscious, if she was really drugged, but…she sees a male child who shares characteristics with the creep who hurt her, and her reaction is that they belong in jail, just like he does. Jesus Christ, this woman is cracked._

He glanced at the clock and found that he'd stayed up nearly through the entire night. _Three-thirty. Not even really time for rest…_ He glanced at the gurney in the medical section. _He'll be asleep in the doorway again. It seems to be becoming a pattern. But if no one comes to put him back in bed, he'll eventually stop._

_What?!_ Bruce broke in, back at odds with Batman the instant it was clear that they were done with case work for the night. _That's terrible! He's going to catch cold again if we leave him there all night. _

_Perhaps, but Alfred's equipped to take care of that._ He paused. _I don't want him to become ill, but you were difficult enough to control when you were around him last night. The less you see him until you're resigned that this is how things must be, the better for the both of you._

_You're wrong. Goddamn you, __this__ is wrong!_ the billionaire railed as he dragged himself over to the table and laid down.

…_We're going to sleep now. Last night's tossing and turning wasn't helpful, and we __have__ to go to Newtown tomorrow. Like Alfred said, the last thing you want to do is leave him parentless again, right?_

Bruce's eyes shut unwillingly, straining, _aching_ to go upstairs, put the boy to bed, and lie down beside him while murmuring a thousand apologies. _…I feel like I already __have_.


	35. Chapter 35

Tuesday bled into Wednesday. Alfred, expecting that the boy would end up in the hallway only to be ignored again, took the extra step of rising twice during the night to check the upstairs corridor, gently guiding him back to bed on each occasion. As a result, Bruce was able to sneak into his room to shower and dress without seeing Dick at all.

…_There, you see?_ he bemoaned silently as he attempted to put together an outfit for the day. _He's already stopped waiting for me by the door. You're making him feel rejected. I don't want him to be like me, damn it! I don't want him to think nobody really cares or understands how he feels!_

_We both know full well that Alfred probably put him back in his own room more than once tonight,_ Batman replied. _…Are you being slow about dressing just for fun, or because you're hoping he'll be outside if you wait long enough to open the door again?_

_This is __not__ my fault. Alfred…didn't lay out any clothes this morning,_ he grimaced. His own dress sense, while basically serviceable, lacked even the smallest iota of panache. He was much better off when the butler chose his suitings for him. _And I wonder why that could be. Oh, wait, that's right: you pissed him off so bad that he won't even talk to me. Now I remember. _Enraged, he pulled his tie too sharply, choking himself for a moment. _Christ. I hate this._

_You'll get over it. Looking back, you're going to thank me._

_Like hell._

His day didn't improve any when he went downstairs for breakfast. Alfred served him, as always, but this morning the butler performed his tasks with an icy aloofness that would have made the food cold had he hung around after setting it in front of his charge. Bruce merely picked, noting as he did that every item on his plate was off the mark just enough to make it unsatisfying. As he prepared to step through the front door a short while later, he paused and glanced over at the man holding the portal open. "…Alfred," he started helplessly. _I'm sorry. I don't want to do this. I don't want to hurt him. I'm __trying__._

"…My apologies, Master Wayne," the Englishman responded crisply. "I assumed you would want one of the Porsches this morning. Is that acceptable?" His eyes never wavered, staring straight ahead as if the air behind the billionaire contained something absolutely riveting. The act was so complete that Bruce himself nearly turned to look.

"I…yes," his shoulders slumped as he began moving again. "One of the Porsches is fine. Thanks."

"Good day, Master Wayne," came a borderline disinterested reply as the door clicked shut behind him.

As soon as he heard the car crunch away down the drive, Alfred leaned his forehead, just for a moment, against the thick wood of the main entry. _Why do you persist in being like this?_ he thought wearily. _It wouldn't have taken but a moment for you to go upstairs and at least look in on Master Dick. Even if you hadn't woken him up, or indeed so much as laid a finger on him, at least in that instance I might have told him that you spared a second this morning with him in mind. I might have given him some hope to hold onto. Now, it seems, my own reserves of that emotion are beginning to draw low. I must spare as much of it as I can for the boy, but…the speed with which it is draining away is rather frightening. End this absurd charade and embrace him the way I know you want to, before you cause this house to be populated by only the shadows of our former selves._

As he wrapped up his thought, faint footsteps approached from behind. "…Alfred? Are…are you okay?"

He smiled. _Darling child. He's been here five days, and already he's inquiring after my health with all the honesty in the world._ "Of course, young sir," he straightened and turned, rushing to husk his words of despair before they left his throat. "A mild headache, is all. I'll take an aspirin and be right back to normal. Now," he bent to tug the blanket Dick had dragged down with him a little tighter across narrow shoulders, "you're up rather early. Is something wrong?"

"Um…" He looked at the door, then back at the butler. "…He already left, didn't he?"

"…Yes, I'm afraid he's gone for the day." _The cad._

"Oh," the youth whispered, tilting his face downwards so that the tears threatening to flee down his cheeks weren't visible.

That single syllable carried so much hurt that Alfred's eyes widened. _…This is pointless,_ he thought. _He obviously knows that there's more at play in Master Wayne's absence than seasonal workload requirements. _And yet, he knew, he would continue to keep up the false front, feeding him lies about the demands of the business and social worlds on the billionaire's time. _What else can I do? I can't possibly sit him down and explain that the person he seems to have put all of his trust in is having serious second thoughts. That's…that's simply too cruel, and I'll not do it._ "If you'd like, Master Dick," he ventured, "I'd be happy to tuck you back into bed. We could even read a bit more. You can easily get a couple more hours rest without sleeping in to a disreputable hour."

"...That's okay, Alfred. I'll just…I'll just go in the den and read, unless I'll be in your way? I can just go to the bedroom, if that's easier."

"You certainly won't be in my way in the den, not in the least," the butler answered quickly. "Perhaps a bit later you'd like to help me straighten out Master Wayne's study? You did an excellent job in the library yesterday, I'm sure you could lend quite a shine across the hall as well." He'd thought that the offer would be taken up gladly – after all, they'd had a little fun cleaning together the day before, and being that the study was Bruce's private abode in the house it might help the child feel a little closer to him – but the question was met with a shudder.

"Um…if you don't mind, I'd…I'd kinda prefer not to go over there today. To the study, and stuff. Is…is it okay if I just sit with the book? I brought it down with me," he twitched the blanket aside so that it could be seen, cradled in the arm not occupied holding his makeshift cape in place. For all that the study had felt like a warm, safe place when he was first invited into it, he feared that it would be chilly now that he no longer seemed to be welcome by its owner. More importantly, he didn't want to walk down the hallway only to find that the snowy winds had blown across into the library as well. _It's better if I just stay on this side. Then I won't be in anyone's way._

…_He's distancing himself. 'The bedroom;' 'the book.' He gave no indication of any sort of ownership, even though it's been made clear to him that it is __his__ room and that he is welcome to enjoy the objects in the manor as his own. Although I must admit that I can hardly blame him for dissociating himself from this house; thanks to the recent asininity of its master, I'm rather ashamed of it myself right now._ "…Of course, young sir. May I escort you there?" _I'm amazed you came downstairs by yourself; I know you're still frightened by the size of this place, and all the more so, I'm sure, given the renewed loneliness you must be feeling. _

With that sense of isolation in mind, he checked on his younger charge regularly throughout the morning. The boy maintained that he needed nothing, however, and when his breakfast was served Alfred had to coax him to eat more than a few bites. To his utter lack of surprise, he discovered him passed out in a chair in the corner of the den shortly thereafter, curled up with one arm over his head and with the dark circles that had faded only days before slowly reasserting themselves beneath his eyes. The position was too close to the way they'd found him at the Center for comfort, and the butler gently rearranged his limbs in the vague hope that a less defensive posture might lend him a bit of peace in his slumber.

Believing that the youth was likely to sleep for a while, he let himself fall into his usual cleaning rhythm, and as such did not look in on him again until nearly noon. Hearing a noise as he passed the kitchen on his way to the den, he frowned and looked around the ajar door. "…Master Dick?!" he asked, startled when he spotted socked feet on the counter.

"Eep!" a squeak answered him. A frightened expression peeped around an open cabinet door. "…I wasn't stealing anything," came a desperate protest. "Honest, Alfred, I was just thirsty, and I didn't know where you keep the glasses but I didn't want to bother you…"

_Stealing? Good lord, child, why on earth would I think that?_ "Of course you weren't stealing anything," he shook his head, drawing closer. "The thought never crossed my mind." Retrieving a glass from another shelf, he filled it with water and handed it over. "Here." _I ought to tell you to get off of the counter,_ he mused as Dick sat down beside the stove and accepted his drink,_ but chastisement is the absolute last thing you need right now. _Instead, he waited until the worst of the boy's thirst had been quenched, and then went on with a different, more pressing, subject. "…Why would you think I would accuse you of stealing?" he inquired softly.

Watery blue eyes met his. "I…well…"

"Does this have to do with Master Wayne's absence yesterday and today?" he pressed when the silence drew out.

"He…" A sniffle. "…He must hate me now for _some_ reason, right? I mean…I just can't think of anything else, unless he thinks I'm here to steal from him, like my social worker said I would…why else doesn't he want to be around me anymore? Did something go missing, Alfred, because I promise, I really didn't take anything, I _really_ didn't, you can search the room and everything if you don't believe me-"

"Hush," the Englishman bade, closing the short distance between them and pulling him into a hug. "Hush, child. He thinks no such thing. _No_ such thing," he almost whispered. "Nor do I." Pulling back, he caught Dick's chin between a thumb and forefinger. "Your social worker is – and you'll have to excuse my language – a Gorgonic bint who ought not to be allowed within shouting distance of decent people. Do not believe a single word she told you; anything she said was a lie."

Dick met his gaze. "…What's 'Gorgonic' mean?" he queried quietly, still sniffling.

"It refers to the Gorgons, a group of monstrous women from Greek mythology with snakes for hair who were terrible to behold. They could turn a person to stone with a single look. As you might imagine, those characteristics made them remarkably unpleasant to deal with, much as is the case with your social worker." He paused, and saw another question rising in the boy's eyes. "Don't ask me what a bint is. Suffice it to say that it is a word you should not repeat."

"Okay," his mouth almost twitched into a distant smile. "And…Bruce really, honestly doesn't think that I'd…you know…steal from him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Alfred…"

"Hmm?"

"Then what _is_ it?"

The butler heaved a sigh. _I suppose there's really no hope for it. He's just too empathic for that. _"Master Wayne is very busy, young sir. What I told you yesterday is the truth; he has a great deal going on, as great men such as he usually do. What I did _not_ tell you," he went on, "is that from time to time even great men can be very foolish. This is one of those times, and I'm afraid you were caught up in the middle of it. But you mustn't feel that you aren't wanted here, Master Dick," he said stolidly. "That is very far from the truth."

"But…if he's having second thoughts about…about me," he murmured, "then…wouldn't it be better if you just took me back to…" he gulped, "to the Center? I…I don't want to cause him any trouble, or you. I can…I could wait there until he…you know…decides whether or not he really _does_ want me." He was shaking, tears running down his cheeks as Margine Randall's voice rang in his head. _ 'No matter what Mr. Wayne might have led you to believe, and no matter what that devious little brain of yours might think it's cooking up, there is no way that one of the richest men in the country wants anything to do with a thieving Gypsy like __you__.'_ Her words had been plaguing him all morning, and the fact that Alfred was now giving him a slightly different story than he had the day before wasn't helping him believe that the CPS agent had been wrong.

"You are _never_ going back there. Master Wayne promised you that, and now I'm promising you that. We will fight to our last breaths to keep you from re-entering that place, do you understand?"

Dick peered up at him. "…Why?" he asked, legitimately puzzled as to why a rich man – albeit one that he'd been so certain understood him, and whom he'd thought would take care of him and maybe, just maybe, even come to love him a little with time – and his butler would go to such lengths for a parentless, penniless circus kid.

"…Oh, child," Alfred broke, tugging him back in for another embrace. _What a question for you to ask,_ his eyes burned. _You must have self-confidence in there somewhere, I would think it necessary for the sort of work you did until recently, but he's driving it into hiding. I hope he doesn't intend to go straight out on patrol when he returns home – late again, no doubt – this evening, because I have a few choice words for him. If a cold shoulder won't suffice, perhaps a visit from righteous rage will. In either case, I don't believe I'll be able to restrain myself tonight. Not after an inquiry like that._

"…You give good hugs," a small voice offered up after a minute.

The Englishman nearly laughed at that, biting the sound back only because he knew the boy would misunderstand his wry amusement. _If I'd learned to give them a bit earlier, we might have avoided this whole mess,_ he derided himself. _But I suppose that wouldn't have been any bloody __fun__._ "…Thank you, young sir," he released him. "Now…why don't we try a little lunch? I have some chicken noodle soup left; would you like a grilled cheese sandwich? I'll even cut the crusts off and stack them separate again, just how you like."

Dick's head tilted a little to the side. "…You remembered," he commented wonderingly.

"Of course I did."

…_I have to try, especially since Alfred was nice enough to remember about the sandwiches special,_ he thought, determined to be polite even though he had no real interest in eating. "…Okay," he nodded.

"Why don't you sit over at the breakfast bar while I work on that for you? It won't take more than a minute."

The boy obliged, but they seemed to have run out of conversation for the time being. Thinking to fill the silence, the butler turned on the radio, loud enough to be heard but low enough that they could talk easily if the mood struck. As he'd promised, the food took little time to prepare, and he was pleased to see his charge actually ingest his meal rather than merely playing with it. _Good. If I can't make you believe that Master Wayne wants you here, perhaps I can keep you going on the fact that __I__ do. I know it isn't what you need, want, or were promised, but it's the very best I can do right now._

Both soup and sandwich were half gone when the station flipped over to an hourly news update. Before Alfred could truly register what he was hearing, let alone dry his hands of dishwater and move to shut the device off, the top story crowned the already miserable morning in exemplary fashion.

"_Police report this hour that due to a lack of leads and evidence they are calling off their investigation into the double homicide that took place at the visiting Haly's Circus eleven days ago. This news comes despite its high profile connections, with international financier and local philanthropist Bruce Wayne having taken in the orphaned child of murdered aerialists Mary and John Grayson less than a week after the tragedy. According to Commissioner Gordon, who announced the decision in a press conference just a few minutes ago, the case was-"_

_Click. _Silence. "…Master Dick?" Alfred asked, his kind tone underlined with vague fear as he remembered his elder charge's cold, inconsolable attitude towards the same sort of news two decades before. _The police at least gave __that__ case more than a week and a half's worth of work before they shoved it in a box,_ he fumed. _And really, you would think they would have called before they just announced it like that. The current Commissioner has done good things for this city during his tenure, and his cooperation with Batman is essential, I know, but this was an extremely poor decision._

"…I don't think I'm hungry any more, Alfred," Dick answered slowly, pushing his plate away. "It was good, though. Thanks." It _had_ been good, right up until the last bite turned to ash in his mouth at the newscaster's words. _…Well, Bruce said they didn't have any leads,_ he reminded himself, trying to think of anything other than the way his stomach was turning. _It…it makes sense that they wouldn't want to…to waste time on it. Not on people like us, at least. I know it shouldn't matter – mom always said it didn't – but clearly it does._ He swiped at his eyes. "…I have a question," he voiced timidly.

"I shall be happy to answer it, young sir," the butler immediately stopped clearing the dishes and gave the pointed face across the breakfast bar from him his full attention.

"When…when Bruce's parents died…um…this is really awkward," he confessed.

"You wish to know how long the police searched for their killer?" Alfred guessed easily.

"Weeell…yeah."

"…Forty seven days, young sir. But they didn't find the responsible party."

"…Oh." _Still. Four point seven times longer, almost. They gave my parents a quarter of the effort they gave his._ "Did…did Batman look for the person when the police gave up?"

"Batman didn't exist at the time. At least," he added quickly, catching himself, "I had never heard of him before. But I understand that he takes special interest in cold cases, so it is possible that he's looked into it." _Every night,_ he didn't tack on out loud. _I honestly believe that he is always looking for clues to their deaths. I wonder, will he stop if he ever __does__ manage to find the responsible party?_

"So…maybe what Bruce said is right?" the child's face pled. "Maybe…maybe Batman will take over _my_ parents' case, now that the police have…have given up? Do…do you think _he'd_ care?"

Alfred winced slightly at the implication that no one else gave a damn, and then grasped at a last straw of hope and handed it to the boy. "I believe that's very likely, Master Dick. This seems like the kind of thing he's usually announced as having solved, and it's been getting a great deal of publicity, so…yes. I feel confident in stating that if he hasn't taken it on yet, he's very likely to." _Don't you dare make me a liar, Master Wayne. If you aren't working on his case because of this damned wobbling you're doing, I may put you over my knee, grown man or no._

The boy's lower lip disappeared between his teeth. "…If I wrote him a letter, would…would you know how to get it to him?" he inquired finally.

"You wish to write Batman a letter?" the butler's eyebrows reached for his hairline.

"I think…I think I might be able to help him. I know some stuff."

_Have you told Master Wayne that?_ he nearly let fall out of his mouth. _No, no, why would he have? And even if he didn't, why would that matter? Don't give the thing away, man, no matter how angry you might be right now. There's no call for betraying secrets, and particularly not that one._ Instead, he drew himself up and straightened his jacket. _If that will make you feel a bit better, young sir, then of course you may write him a letter. _"Very well, then. I'll fetch you some paper and a pencil, and-"

"Could you make it a pen?" Dick interrupted. "…Sorry," he flushed a moment later. "I just…I want it to look grown-up, you know? I don't want him to think of me as just another kid."

_He doesn't, I assure you. _"I will bring you a pen, then, young sir," Alfred promised, "and when you've finished, I will be honored to see to your note's delivery." _By hand,_ a self-pleased little smirk slipped onto his lips as he turned into the hallway and headed for the writing desk in the living room. _I want to be there to see his face when he reads what you've written. I daresay I shall enjoy it._


	36. Chapter 36

Bruce entered the foyer late that evening and stood for a moment, waiting expectantly. _…Okay,_ he groaned finally,_ I guess he's progressed to not even helping me with my coat. Shit._

_It isn't as if you don't know where the closet is,_ Batman snarked, irritated from a day of moody back-and-forths that had intensified after the Commissioner called to inform Bruce that the Grayson murder investigation was being halted. Wanting to speak with Alfred privately about how to break the news to Dick and assuming that the boy would spend most of the day in the library, where he wasn't likely to overhear the television or radio, he hadn't called the house. _If nothing else,_ he'd counseled as Bruce had wept quietly for the child, remembering what it had felt like to hear that his own parents' deaths were being swept under the rug, _this may help __our__ investigation. Now there's less chance of the police putting the people we need to talk to in Newtown on their guard, and hearing that GPD is marking the case as cold may make them relax, to our advantage._

Thinking about it again as he hung his own jacket up, the billionaire voiced a determined insistence. _I __have__ to be the one to tell him about this. You know that. You remember what it was like, I know you do. He deserves to hear it from someone who understands._

There was no answer for a moment as they walked down the hallway towards the clock. _…I suppose Alfred wouldn't do it even if you asked, at this point, so fine. But you'll be quick about it, and while I recognize that a certain level of physical contact is likely to occur, you will not prolong it any more than is necessary for basic comforting. No pet names, and no promises._

Bruce grimaced. _Fine._ It was better than nothing; at least he'd get to see him, if only for a few minutes. _I'm still fighting for you, kiddo. I'm just facing a very tough adversary. If I could make it go faster, I would._

A mixture of surprise and mild fear flooded him when he entered the cave to find the butler waiting for him. It wasn't unusual for him to be downstairs, but he was generally working, keeping the dust-prone space as clean as possible, tallying supplies, or any one of a million other tasks that the younger man couldn't even begin to imagine. Finding him standing stock-still at the base of the stairs with a flat, unhappy expression was disconcerting, to say the least. "Uh…hello," Bruce ventured, one hand rising to rub at the back of his neck nervously. _…Does this mean you're talking to me again? Because I'd really, really like that, even if you do start it off by yelling._

But Alfred didn't yell. "Master Wayne, please sit down," he said, gesturing to the computer chair that he'd pulled over.

"…I have to go to Newtown tonight. I don't have time to talk," Batman overrode Bruce's attempt to do as he'd been told.

The Englishman closed the distance between them silently. Suddenly, it no longer mattered that the vigilante dwarfed him by several inches, because the towering anger rolling palpably off of him more than made up the difference. "Sit," he hissed, "down."

…_You'd better listen to him. I've never seen him this mad before. _

Batman sighed. "I can spare a minute, if it's that important," he muttered, moving to the seat he'd been assigned. "What is it?" he asked irreverently, crossing one leg over the other.

In a highly abnormal invasion of his employer's personal space, Alfred leaned in until their faces were only inches apart. The note of hesitation that entered the other man's gaze made a terse smirk cross his lips. _Well, I see I didn't lie to Master Dick; I still have the ability to scare little boys, no matter how much they __think__ they may have grown up._ "…I have known you since the day you were born," he began slowly. "I daresay I raised you, more or less. Would you agree?"

"…I suppose you did, yes." _What is this?_

"Then I am deeply ashamed of myself," the Englishman said frankly. "I am mortified that a child I was responsible for bringing up has turned into such a cold, unfeeling _jackass_." With that, he pulled away and turned his back.

"You don't understand," Bruce tried, shoving Batman aside and feeling his eyes fill with tears instantly. _Don't be mad at me, I'm __trying__…_

"What I don't _understand_," Alfred whirled around, snapping, "is how you can do what you have been doing to that sweet, precious child upstairs when it is virtually the same thing that was done to you!"

"…Alfred…"

"_Don't_ interrupt me. _Listen_." The seated figure went silent, obeying, but at that crucial moment he found he couldn't speak as he wanted to. _…I made mistakes, Bruce,_ he thought guiltily. _I admit that, and I'm sorry. If I could go back in time and have another opportunity to be what you truly needed in those first weeks, believe me, I would do it. I look at that boy, and I see so much of what you once were, when you…felt loved. I saw what he did to you this past weekend. I saw the way you lit up when you were with him. It was like getting a glimpse of the man you might have been had they not died as they did, and it was the most glorious thing I have ever seen. Now you're sabotaging it. I don't know why, and I don't __want__ to know why; all I know is that I want you to stop. Because it isn't just you that I'm having to watch the light slip away from this time; it's him, too. I will not stand idly by and watch you repeat my errors. What kind of a father am I, and what kind of a father will you be, if I do? _

He wanted to give voice to everything ricocheting around his brain, and yet he couldn't, his lips sealing themselves against the sentiments. _The same problem as always with him,_ he mused bitterly. _And I wonder where he learned it from. _They stared at one another for a full minute before Alfred reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope. "This is a letter," he said slowly, "that I received earlier today. It is addressed to you…from your son." Bruce's breath hitched audibly at the use of that word, and the butler smiled softly. "Yes, I insist on referring to him as such, even if you still fail to recognize what he has already become to you. Not because of the paperwork," he waved off, "that's mere formality, but because of…something else," he shook his head. "I can't explain it, but it's glaringly obvious. Even when you aren't with him – even when you're studiously trying to ignore his very existence – he is always in the fore of your mind. Isn't he?" Silence. "Answer me."

"No…"

"Don't _lie_. You know better."

"…Y-_yes_."

"I don't know what happened when you two met, but something did, and it is _marvelous_, Bruce. If you could see yourself when you're with him, you wouldn't believe your eyes. And that is why I don't understand this. Can't you let yourself be happy, just for once?"

"It's too dangerous," Batman reasserted himself, still using Bruce's voice. "Give me the letter." Both wanted it, the billionaire desperate to gauge the boy's pain in order to measure his own guilt, the vigilante curious as to what an eight-year-old could possibly have to say to him.

"Everything you do is dangerous. The reward is guaranteed in this instance, so long as you seize it before the opportunity has expired, so _why_ are you not leaping at it? You've never been one to let something good pass you by, and you've certainly never been prone to destroying innocence; what could possibly be driving this madness?"

Batman shook his head violently. "It's a precautionary measure. It will be over soon, I promise." _This would be so much faster and easier for us both if you'd just stop fighting, _he advised Bruce silently.

_I'll never stop fighting. Not for him, I won't._

_Foolish. Where did you learn that, anyway?_ he sneered.

…_From you, of course._

That stymied the Bat for a second, but fortunately Alfred was talking, distracting him from turning that fact over all of the way. "It had better end _very_ quickly. Both for your own good and for his." He held out the envelope, then pulled it back a few inches as it was reached for. "…I'll have you know that I read this – without his knowledge, I'm sorry to admit – and was astounded, as you will be." Hesitantly, he gave up the note, stepping back to watch as Bruce opened it.

_Dear Batman,_

_ We've never met before, but you might have heard of me. My name is Richard Grayson, and my parents were murdered two weekends ago here in your city._

Bruce had to pause at that, well able to imagine the amount of pain it must have caused the boy to write that sentence, and so soon after the fact.

_ I know you probably don't get many letters, but Mr. Wayne, who I guess is supposed to be my guardian (I hope I spelled that right, I didn't ask about the spelling because I want this letter to just be between you and me), said he heard a rumor that you might try and find the bad guys who killed them. When he first told me that, I wondered if I might be able to help you somehow, and now that the police aren't looking into it anymore I felt like I should actually offer._

"…How does he know that?" the billionaire moaned, his face distorting. "Alfred," he looked up tearfully. "…The investigation…Gordon called me this morning about it. I wanted to talk to you about how best to tell him, but…he already knows?"

The Englishman grimaced. "I made the mistake of turning on the radio while he ate his lunch this morning," he explained. "I had no way of knowing he would overhear such a thing. Why didn't you call immediately?"

"I thought I had time," he closed his eyes, fingers crimping the edges of the note. "God _damn_ it, I should have been the one to tell him! He shouldn't have heard it from a fucking radio broadcast!"

_At least now you can avoid potentially reconnecting with him over another shared pain. This is a __good__ development. _Batman sounded slightly uncertain, however; the emotion was so foreign in his voice that it took Bruce a moment to pick up on it.

_You need to shut up and pay attention, _he lectured. _After all, he wrote this to __you__._ Receiving no rebuttal, he returned to the letter, the childishly large but neat handwriting blurring as the occasional tear still swelled in his vision.

_…I was there when Pop Haly was threatened. I mean, I didn't see anything, but I definitely heard plenty, and…well, I've been thinking about it really, really hard, and I __know__ I could recognize those voices if I heard them again. And I've been thinking about some other stuff, too, these last couple of days since Mr. Wayne told me about you. I was thinking about him, and me, and all the other kids who have felt like we do because someone took their parents away. And I don't want that to go on anymore. I want it to stop. I want to __make__ it stop, not because I want revenge or anything like that so much – although a little part of me does want to see the people who took my parents away in jail, I won't lie about that – but because no one else should have to feel like this. _

_ So…anyway…I know you probably don't have a whole lot of uses for a kid, but I don't think Mr. Wayne would mind if you wanted to put me to work, since he doesn't seem to want me around anymore. Maybe you can talk to him about it; I kind of got the feeling you two know each other a little? It doesn't have to be anything special, I'll even just clean and stuff if that helps you have more time to catch bad guys, but I'm pretty good at a few other things that you might find helpful, too. I don't want to be a charity case, though; my parents worked hard for everything they had, and that's how I want to be, too. _

_I just want to be useful, Batman. I know there are a lot of people out there who have sort of lost hope, people like Mr. Wayne and…well…like me, too, I guess. I want to do whatever I can to give them that hope back, and maybe if I do I'll get some back myself (but that's not the only reason I want to help, don't get me wrong!). I want to help you do what you do, no matter what that takes. I hope you'll let me._

_Sincerely,_

_Richard (Dick) Grayson_

Bruce had to re-read the letter three times before he felt like he'd really absorbed it. _…Well?_ he raged at the silent Batman. _Do you see now what you've done? He thinks I wouldn't care if he ran off with – was kidnapped, more like – by an edge-of-the-law crime fighter. Are you happy?!_

_No. But I am intrigued._

…_What?_

_His proclaimed reasons for wanting to help are interesting. He doesn't want revenge; he wants to keep others from feeling like __they__ want it. It's not what I would have expected from an eight-year-old. From most anyone, to be fair._

_Dick's special. I've been trying to tell you that all along. Do you __see__ now?_

_I see where he might be useful in our Newtown case._

…_Nothing else strikes you about the child who wrote this?! _

…_He has remarkably odd penmanship._

_Oh, for fuck's sake! He's feeling completely rejected and receives bad news, and his first thought is 'how can I do something to keep other people from feeling this way?,' but instead of recognizing that incredible generosity you focus on how he makes his letters?!_

…_Yes._

It was a lie; Batman was impressed despite himself, not only by the letter but by the various characteristics the youth had evinced over the past few days. It was possible, of course, that Dick's words were just that – words, and words alone – but courageous and talented men usually started out as brave and skillful boys. If only the letter in his hand had been written by someone that his first responsibility wasn't so attached to, he might have been able to use him in the requested manner. As it stood, he couldn't see a way to do so without endangering the primary mission, but that didn't mean he couldn't keep turning the seed of an idea around in his own little private section of Bruce's brain. "…Did he ask how you would get this to me?"

"Yes, sir. I informed him letters to Batman are generally addressed to the police station, and are forwarded appropriately from there."

"Did he buy that?"

"He seemed to, yes."

"Mm." He stood.

"…Master Wayne? Going upstairs, I hope?"

"No," he shook his head. "I'm going to Newtown. I have to solve this case for him, as soon as possible." He paused. "Before the leads get any colder."

"…Did the letter you just read do _nothing_ for you, sir? Because I don't believe it, not after what I saw last weekend. You adore him; _show it_!" the butler railed.

"What do you think I'm doing by going to Newtown?" he spat back. The statement was enough to clear out the cave, as Alfred paled, then flushed, and finally let loose an absolutely livid _harrumph_ before practically stomping up the steps.

…_My god, you __meant__ that,_ Bruce sputtered. _You __do__ care about him, you cruel, devious son of a bitch!_

_I do __not__,_ Batman defended himself with an angry but weakened snarl. _He is…a useful tool, much like your money._

_And you're just a tool, in general,_ the billionaire threw back. _It was bad enough that you were being so awful to him when you didn't give a shit, but…how __can__ you? He __needs__ me upstairs, the same way I needed someone!_

_How many times do I have to explain that __you__ are the primary mission?! You, not Dick, not Alfred, not __anyone__ else. He could be useful for the secondary mission, which as we both know is stopping or correcting injustices in general, as I noted before. Until I find a way for him to be of use to the main objective, you will keep your distance from him, exactly as you have been._

…_So you __are__ looking for a way to make him useful to your overprotectiveness, then?_ Bruce asked slyly, a note of giddiness in his thoughts at that faint ray of hope.

_I didn't say that. And even if I __was__ doing…that,_ he ground out, _I make no promises. There is likely no role for him in the primary mission, and if I determine that that is the case you are just going to have to live with it._

…_Only if he can, Batman. Otherwise, I'm not interested._

**Author's Note: A couple more chapters to cuddles!**


	37. Chapter 37

The next afternoon, Bruce winced as he reached for the phone. Cynthia had buzzed back to inform him that it was Alfred on the line, and after the lecture of the night before and the miserable breakfast he'd been served that morning the butler was the last person he wanted to speak to. _Cantaloupe and plain, sugarless oatmeal,_ he shuddered, remembering. _I'll be lucky if he even feeds me dinner at all, at this rate. _He'd eaten little of his morning repast, instead stopping by a fast-food place on his way to work and bearing the shocked stare of the employee at the window. The fact that the items he ordered were somehow less palatable than what had been set in front of him an hour earlier – _people pay money for this? – _had been almost as dismaying as the lucky paparazzo he spotted snapping photos as he drove through the exit.

The only bright spot in his day had come early on, and even that had been a mixed bag. Remembering Batman's hesitation the night before, he'd tried an experiment as he came out of his bedroom and found the hallway unoccupied. Turning left rather than right, he'd forced himself the short distance to the boy's bedroom door. It had taken every ounce of strength he had, but he finally managed to pass inside and move forward enough to see him, asleep, Elinor clutched in his arms as if she were his only friend in the world. _…If his letter last night was any indication, that's exactly how he feels,_ he'd moaned to himself, something twisting in his chest at the thought. He made to slip closer, aching to erase the sad expression that the child wore even in slumber, and managed one step before he was halted.

_What do you think you're doing?_

_Wiping that awful look off of his face._

_No. No touching, no pet names. You're lucky I allowed you to come this far._

_Bullshit! I had to fight you for every inch between my bedroom and here, don't try and tell me you 'allowed' anything!_

_I kept up a resistance, yes,_ Batman lied smoothly. _But you are only standing here now because I chose not to hold you back._

In the sleeping child's presence, Bruce was emboldened. _Screw this. I'm going to him._ His foot got half an inch off of the floor before it halted, then lowered itself against his will. He jerked it up once more, and this time there was an effort from the other side to make him step backwards. He fought, and managed to get the limb back down where it had started.

…_An impasse,_ Batman stewed.

_An impasse,_ Bruce repeated with a fierce joy. He'd realized the night before that he was gaining on the vigilante, and this latest battle only served to support his suspicions. Batman had dominated the conversation with Alfred, certainly, but the moments when the billionaire had managed to grasp control had _not_ been approved. He'd fought for them, and won them, and it seemed to be getting easier with every attempt he made. _Why don't you just give up now?_ he teased.

_For the same reason that you did not. Because I believe that I am doing the right thing._

That was the last he'd heard from Batman for the rest of the morning. Improvement or none, Bruce found that he wasn't able to overcome the lock on his mouth that prevented him from calling the boy to him. With that option barred to him, he simply stood, watching him sleep, until he glanced at his watch and discovered that he was running late. _I wish he would have woken up and seen me, _he'd sighed as he backed silently out of the chamber, _but at least I got to see him. And maybe my being there helped stave off a nightmare or two…he seemed to be okay, except for that frown… I wish I could have gotten closer, kiddo, I do, but…we're getting there. I'm not giving up; don't you give up, either._

The successes of the morning still clear in his mind, he pushed the vigilante back once more and answered the phone. "Ah…Alfred?" he asked hesitantly once the handset was to his ear. _Please don't yell at me. I'm doing my best, honestly I am._

"Master Wayne, I need you to come home immediately."

A blade of dread slipped into his. "What? Why? What's wrong? Is…is he all right?" _Oh, god, tell me he didn't try to do something foolish, take a cue from Caleb, or…or…run away, or something…_

"So far as I know he's fine…physically speaking," the butler replied, the last two words dripping with accusation.

_Oh, thank god. _"…Then what's the problem? Something with CPS, or…?"

There was a heavy sigh at the other end. "I suppose I may as well give you the whole story now. He slept in a bit this morning, which struck me as odd since he rose extremely early yesterday in the hopes of catching you before you left for work."

"…I didn't know that," Bruce whispered into the expectant pause. _Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. I know I have so much to make up for once I finally get this under control, I just…I'm so sorry._

"No, I don't suppose you would have. In any case, he slept in this morning, or so I thought. When I went to get him for breakfast, however, I found him at his window rather than in bed. He'd risen, bathed, and dressed, and based on the fact that his hair had dried completely I believe that he had been staring outside for some time. He said he was fine when I inquired, and then asked me the date. I thought the question only slightly odd at the time, seeing as how the weather has reversed itself completely in the past day, and told him that it is the first day of spring. He seemed a little dismayed by that, but said nothing further about it.

"He was quiet all through his breakfast – which, I'll have you know, he once again barely picked at – and-"

"Did you serve him what you served me?" Batman sneered into the phone. "Because I can hardly blame him if you did."

_Knock it off! This sounds important!_

_So is making sure we have enough energy for patrol. That greasy…__thing__…that you bought was nothing but congealed cholesterol._

_Yeah, well, maybe, if you'd stop being such an ass he'd be feeding us better. Now shut up._

"…I beg your pardon?" a scandalized question came through the phone.

"Sorry, Alfred," Bruce enacted quick damage control. "I didn't mean that."

"Indeed? I couldn't tell. Regardless, no; I served him an omelet. He said it was good, and yet he ate very little of it before retreating to the den with his book."

"…How far is he into it now?" the billionaire asked quietly. _If I'd been reading to him at night, I'd know. But I haven't been. _

"He appears to be nearly finished. He fell asleep on the couch shortly thereafter, which didn't surprise me in the least given that I removed him from your bedroom doorway twice again last night, and stayed that way until lunch. I suspect that he had another nightmare towards the end of his nap, since he was freshly awake and rather teary-eyed when I fetched him to try and eat again, but he once more insisted that there was no problem.

"I attempted to engage him in conversation over his luncheon, and he responded politely enough – I've yet to hear a coarse word from him, which I must say is a truly delightful change of pace – but it was obvious that his heart wasn't in it. Thinking some fresh air might do him good, I suggested that he venture outside and enjoy the sun, which he did."

_It __is__ a nice day,_ Bruce had to admit, glancing out of his windows. Although it was a pretty safe bet that Gotham's usual blanket of clouds would return tomorrow, they'd all vanished that morning, leaving the sky a perfectly blank blue. Suddenly unobstructed, the sun had pushed the temperature up into the sixties by midday, and was making the office hot enough that he'd been seriously considering turning on the air conditioner when he was informed of the call waiting for him. _He should be outside. And…well, I should be with him,_ he sighed. _But I don't have that level of control. Not yet. Stick around another day, sun, and maybe I'll have brought this war to a conclusion._ "Okay. So he's outside. Is that…is that why you called me to come home?"

"No, sir. I had a very strong suspicion that something as simply wholesome as spending time with your son – yes, there's that word again – on the first truly beautiful day we've had since I can remember wouldn't be sufficient for you, at least not as you've been of late." His tone was scathing, but Bruce, feeling like he deserved it, didn't try to defend himself. "I phoned you because I discovered something rather awful when I took advantage of the young master's absence to look over his CPS file more in depth."

"'Awful'?" the billionaire repeated, frowning. "I didn't see anything too terrible when I flipped through it."

"Nor did I the first time. But I imagine that we both rather glossed over the vital statistics, being more interested in the academic and psychological testing results."

"I didn't exactly read the basics word for word, no, but we know most of that stuff, so…" _I'm confused. Where is this going?_

"I thought as much myself, until I noticed this morning that he is nine."

"Eight," he corrected automatically. "He's eight."

"He is nine, sir, as of five twenty-three this morning," Alfred informed him quietly. "Hence, I must assume, his mood upon hearing the date."

"…Are you telling me that today is his _birthday_?" Bruce asked for confirmation as stunned tears welled up in his eyes. _Dicky…baby…I wish you'd __said__ something…_

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, Master Wayne. On top of everything else, we failed to recognize his birthday," he said, his shame audible.

"Why the hell didn't he tell us!?" _First the note, and now this. Christ, I am an absolute failure. _

"…Surely you're cognizant of that, sir."

"…Goddamn it. Of course I am." He stood up. "I'm…"

_No, you aren't! You can see him for a short while this evening, given the circumstances. But there's no need to cut the work day short._

_You know what? I'm about done. It was bad enough before, but this…this is out of the question. He skipped telling us about his birthday because he thought no one would care. This isn't an issue of whether or not I'm getting 'too attached'; this is a problem of doing justice by a scared, lonely child. And by myself,_ he added furiously. _Because I'm sick of hiding in the shadows all the time. I'm not saying I want to let the whole world in; just this one person. I've waited long enough, and he's waited too long. No more. Do you understand me? No. Fucking. More._ "Alfred, I'll be home as fast as I can be. Don't tell him; I want it to be a surprise. And…I don't know, presents?"

"I think seeing you, provided that you can act like you ought to around him, will make his day, but we can address the issue of belated gifts this evening. I'll prepare a cake for after dinner." He paused. "…I'm glad to hear that you've come to your senses, Master Wayne. It would have pained me greatly if I'd had to request that your steak for the fundraiser on Saturday be cooked to the consistency of shoe leather."

_The fundraiser. Paparazzi. Shit._ "…Can you get me out of that?"

"Sir?"

"The fundraiser. Get me out of it."

"It's the semi-annual Wayne Foundation plate dinner. Are you certain? You've never missed one of those."

"I know, but…I owe him two days."

_You owe him nothing!_

_I owe him everything, and that's even if he never forgives me for what I've let you make me do to him since Monday night._ "…I think they'd understand, don't you?" he asked out loud.

There was a pause. "Yes, Master Wayne, I daresay that they would," Alfred answered softly, not needing to ask to whom his elder charge was referring. "I'll make the necessary arrangements."

"Thank you. And Alfred?"

"Hmm?"

"…I'm sorry."

"We all make mistakes, sir," the butler nearly whispered. "So long as you do your best to rectify the error, I've nothing to hold against you."

"…See you in a little while."

"Indeed. I shall meet you in the foyer." And with that, the call ended.

Bruce sped home at speeds he usually risked only in the Batmobile, managing through sheer luck to avoid being pulled over for reckless endangerment. _Wouldn't the tabloids have __loved__ that,_ he thought bitterly as he braked hard, sliding to a stop in front of the manor.

_This is stupid. _

_ Look who's using juvenile phraseology __now__,_ he retorted.

_He'll destroy you. You'll lose him someday, you know you will, and it will kill you._

_ …You know what? Fine. If that's how it works out, then that's how it works out. So long as I get to spend time with him between now and then, then it's okay. If I have to die, it might as well be for a cause, and he's the best one I've ever encountered._

_ Really? Better than the overall crusade for justice that we wage every night? This one boy is more important than all of those other people?_ Batman asked sarcastically.

_Not statistically speaking, no. But he's a symbol of __why__ we do what we do; how can either of us walk away from that?_

_ I…you…hmm._

_ Yeah. Now maybe you see where I'm coming from._ He paused. _He's going to have to know about Batman. It's the only way._

_I disagree. __Strenuously._

_ I don't really care if you agree. I'm __telling__ you that that's what has to happen._

_ How can you trust a child you barely know to keep that secret? He'll expose us, you know he will, if only by accident._

_ …This is the kid who volunteered to sweep the Batcave so we'd have more time for investigations. The kid who kept his own __birthday__ a secret. And you don't think we can trust him?_

_ I'm hesitant, yes, for the obvious reasons!_

_ Well, I trust him. So…get used to it, because I'm telling him._ A little more tension released from his muscles suddenly, and he was able to climb out of the car.

As he'd promised he would be, Alfred was waiting just inside. He deftly caught the jacket that the billionaire practically chucked at him on his way by. "Where is he?" Bruce demanded, not stopping. _He wasn't on the front lawn, so he must be out back, but I don't want to waste a bunch of time searching for him…_

"He was down by the standalone oaks about fifteen minutes ago."

"Good!" he called, sweeping towards the patio door. _Oh, kiddo, I just hope you can forgive me…_ His self-control seemed to grow with every step he took, Batman falling further into the shadows as he moved out into the light. Had his tie not been clipped, it would have been over his shoulder in an instant, skewed by the breeze of his rapid passage through the spring air. _Where are you?_ his eyes narrowed, searching the ground between a pair of trees that had been planted several generations before his birth.

He drew to a standstill. _…He might have moved. Alfred said it had been about fifteen minutes since he…_ The thought trailed off as he finally caught sight of him, standing on a branch some twenty feet in the air with his back turned. _There you are,_ he smiled softly. _Tree climbing. Why am I not surprised? _

_ He blends in very well, especially considering that there are no leaves, but the lowest limb is at least twice his height from the ground. How did he even get up there?_ Batman wondered.

_ Eh. He's strong; you said it yourself. I'll ask him, though._ His pleased expression slackened as the boy crept away from the trunk. _...What is he doing?_ he thought, the same knife as earlier slipping into his guts. …_Dick?_

_Go,__ he's going to-!_

Dick jumped.

**Author's Note: I refuse to be so cruel as to leave you with that ending for 24 hours. As such, I've posted two chapters today. Happy reading!**


	38. Chapter 38

**Author's Note: I've posted two chapters today, so make sure that you read chapter 37 before jumping into this one. Happy reading!**

A strangled cry echoed through Bruce's head as he ran like he had never run before. It only stayed silent because voicing it would have wasted air that he desperately needed for his race with gravity, a race that he knew he was going to lose before he took his first sprinting step.

Even as denial and horror flooded his veins, he watched. His brain registered four tight, perfectly executed somersaults, the move that had been so touted in the circus propaganda – the move that he had, in fact, gone to the show specifically to see, albeit that he'd expected to witness an adult, not a child, performing it. _But he never got the chance,_ he realized as his slick-soled dress shoes tried to slip in the yellowed grass. _This is the first one he's done since they died, I'm sure._ And, he couldn't bring himself to think, it was the last one he'd _ever_ do, because the ground was rising far too fast for Bruce to catch up.

_No, no, no, no, __NO!_ His eyes bulged wildly as the boy came within six inches of the unforgiving earth…and then seemed to be repelled by it, the hammock he'd landed in tossing him up a foot or so from its static height before cradling his landing for a second time. A delighted little giggle reached his ears as all of his emotions reversed, the switch from hopeless terror to relieved joy coming so suddenly that it made him lightheaded. His footfalls slowed, then stopped some ten feet out from where jean-clad legs dangled, unshattered and whole. Before he knew what had happened, he'd thumped to the ground, his hands going to his temples as he watched sneakers being kicked off. A pair of socks – not, he noted, the ones with a hole in them, which he still wasn't sure Dick had told Alfred about – joined them in the dirt. _…Oh. Oh my god. That…that was the most horrible thing I've ever seen,_ he covered his eyes.

…_It didn't look good,_ Batman agreed, sounding a bit shaky himself. _But maybe __now__ you see why you need to keep your distance? You say you…you know. Maybe that's true. Just maybe. But if it is, that makes him all the more dangerous. Take what just happened; you couldn't stand up right now if you tried, could you? What if there hadn't been anything to stop him? It's been a long time since you felt pain like that; I know, because I've been the one keeping it at bay. Maybe now that you've been given a little reminder of what it feels like you'll appreciate the primary mission – my reason for being – a bit more._

Bruce shook his head, his intense fear lulling into wry amusement as he listened to the vigilante argue from an inferior position. _Don't you get it? You said before, and again just now, that your 'entire purpose for being' is to keep me from ever again feeling the pain of losing someone I love. But that hasn't been your __entire__ purpose for years. If it was, we sure as hell wouldn't run the rooftops of Gotham every night. How does __that__ keep me from caring for someone? Furthermore,_ he cut him off before an objection could be raised, _what you're doing, trying to distance me from him, is __undermining__ the primary objective._

…_What?_

He grasped the truth of the words as they flowed through his mind, and as he did he realized that the war was over, and he was the victor. _You saw him, just now. You saw the look on his face, the misery. From twenty feet below, you saw it just as well as I did. Sure, the hammock was there to catch him, but I'm not sure he wouldn't have jumped even if it hadn't been. I sure didn't know it was there; for a second, when I __knew__ he was going to hit the ground, you had __already__ failed your mission. Because I do…you know. I do, no matter what you say, and for that single moment, __all__ of that pain – not just the taste of it you seem to think I got – came rushing back. _He paused. _Yet you'll notice I'm still here, and making a logical argument. _He had zero confidence that he would have recovered so well had Dick actually hit the ground, but he wasn't planning on letting Batman know that, at least not until his domination was assured. There was very little space in which he could keep secrets from himself, but that particular one was worthy of a place in the vault.

…_There wasn't time for it to sink in. It would have been different if he actually __had__…you know,_ the vigilante proposed.

…_You can't say it, can you, you son of a bitch?_ Bruce grinned wickedly. _You can't say it, you can't even __think__ it, because it wouldn't have just broken me to lose him; it would have broken you, too. He got to you. He fucking __got__ to you, somewhere along the way. And you know it wouldn't have been different, the pain, just longer lasting; you know because __you felt it too__._

_That doesn't change what it would have done to you if the hammock had been absent, _Batman flailed valiantly.

_No. But it does prove that you're no stronger than I am. Not when it comes to him. In fact…when he's the topic, I've got you beat._

There was a disconsolate silence. He had no further argument; Bruce's statement was true, as little as Batman wanted to admit it. _…I concede,_ he gave in finally, his rage at having been defeated only thinly veiled. _Have it your way._

_I still need you. You know that. And more importantly, so does he._

…_I'm aware of that, yes. _

_Then we'll talk later. Right now…_ The billionaire looked up to find a pair of bright blue eyes watching him cautiously from a mere foot away. Before either could speak the other's name, he jerked the child into a tight embrace, pulling him into his lap and cradling him there, rocking back and forth.

For a long moment there was naught but silence. Then, his adrenaline ebbing away, Bruce realized that his hug wasn't being returned. "…Dick?" he queried, loosening his grip enough to look at him. The boy's gaze flitted away. "…I'm sorry," he pled, already feeling hot moisture balancing on the rims of his eyelids. "I know I've been awful, and there was no good reason for it, and I wish…I wish it hadn't happened. God, how I wish it hadn't happened, but…I'm so sorry. Let me start over, Dicky, let me try again. Please. Forgive me, chum. Please," he begged, gathering both small hands in one of his own.

"That's…that's really hard, Bruce," he whispered back, still not looking at him. "I don't understand what I did wrong."

"You didn't do _anything_ wrong, baby," the billionaire swore desperately. "I was being a dumbass – don't repeat that word – and _I_ was the one in the wrong. I promise, I was _never_ mad at you. I was mad at myself."

"…_About_ me, though. It's…" he sniffled, "it's okay if you don't…don't want me anymore. Or, you know, if you never did. I know you had your own life all figured out before I came along. I…I d-didn't mean to m-mess anything up for you."

"Stop. You're wrong."

His tear-streaked face rose at that. "…Huh?"

"You're wrong. My life was a million miles from figured out before you came along. It looked good from the outside, but…there was something missing. Something important." Reaching up, he cupped his cheek. "You're the missing piece, Dick. I can't complete the puzzle without you, and…and I really want to, kiddo. I want to put that piece where it belongs more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I was just afraid of what might happen if something came along and took that last bit away once I'd seen how much prettier the whole picture was."

"…Do you _really_ mean all that, Bruce?"

"_Yes._"

He chewed his lip for a second, considering. "Why were you worried? I can't think of what could take me away from you. I mean…there's not really anything threatening around here," he shrugged. "Except maybe CPS, but…they're dumb."

"They are, chum. But I'm not going to let them take you. And…well, there are a lot of other things in the world that could take you from me, and I can only control so many of them."

Dick wrinkled his nose as he caught the new nickname for a second time. "…Isn't that a fish?" he asked. "Chum? It's a salmon, right?"

Bruce laughed. _Clever little thing._ "Yeah. It is. But," his voice softened, "…it's also something my dad used to call me."

"…Your dad?" he said hesitantly.

"Mm-hmm. Is it…is it okay if I call you that?" _Please say yes. Please, I know you understand what I mean by asking that._

"I…I mean…" He struggled with the question. "It's just so _fast,_ Bruce," he explained.

"Hey," the billionaire caught his attention. "I'm _not_ trying to take their place, Dick. I will never try to do something like that, and even if I did, I would never be able to be as good of a…well…I'll just never be as good at this as they were, period. I know that. But I'm going to do my best, if you'll let me have another chance at being a good guardian. 'Chum'…it's just a name I'd like to call you. But if you don't want me to, that's okay. It won't make me feel any different."

"I…" _Would they mind? I mean…I know you'll never really take their place, but…_ "You're not really _so_ bad at this, Bruce," he blurted out. "You're just…you know…not used to it yet."

"…Yet?" he repeated hopefully.

A beat passed. "Yeah," Dick nodded firmly, meeting his gaze again. "Yet." He smiled. "But you'll figure it out as we go along."

"You'll help me?"

"Sure I will. I like to help people," he shrugged. Then, unexpectedly, he leaned over and nestled his face back into the man's neck. "'Specially you. I hope you don't think that's weird."

"No," he wrapped the child back up in his arms. "I don't think it's weird. I think I need more help than either of us know." The half-serious comment drew a pensive 'hmm' from the area of his collar, and for a while after it sounded they simply sat together in the sun, reveling in the warmth now that winter seemed to have been banished. "…Hey, kiddo?" Bruce ventured after some time.

"Yes?"

"…Why did you jump out of the tree?" The pain of that question was impossible to cover up, making his voice dry and husky.

"…I just hadn't flown in so _long_, Bruce," came a yearning reply. "And there was no other way to do it, and…well, I saw the hammock, and it looked like it would make a good net, so…yeah. It did, too. Don't worry, I checked the ropes and everything before I went up. I…I know how to check that stuff, and aim my falls and all of that."

_Do you, now,_ an interested voice piped up in the back of Bruce's head.

_Hey. Later. You kept me away from him long enough; just let me enjoy him for a little while._ "So…that was the only reason? You just wanted to be in the air again for a little while?"

"Yeah," he nodded, craning his neck to take in the worried look in the man's eyes. His own widened. "You didn't think…like Caleb?"

Bruce slumped with relief. "I wasn't sure, but…I didn't see the hammock, Dick. I didn't think there was anything between you and the ground, and then with that letter you wrote yesterday and us not knowing about your birthday today, I…I thought the worst." He squeezed him and hissed fervently, "I'm so glad I was wrong."

"…Wait," the boy pushed back, staring at him with a hard frown. "I didn't write you a letter. I…I wrote _Batman_ a letter."

_Oh, shit. I didn't mean to let that slip out. Well…I was going to tell him, anyway._ "…Yeah, I know you did. And it was…wow, kiddo. It was…wow."

"Why did Alfred give it to _you_, though? He said he was going to make sure it got to-" He cut off, understanding dawning on his face. "…You were opposite a strange man in the dream I've had the last three nights. I thought…I thought he looked like Batman – there was a video on TV, that's how I saw him – and it was weird because he looked just like _you_ but in all black, and…Bruce," he glanced around, seeming to already understand the need for secrecy. "Are you…well…_are_ you?" _He has to be. I thought maybe…but Alfred said no, so Bruce must have told him not to let me know…it all makes sense now. He __is__ Batman._

The billionaire was beaming as he, too, checked their surroundings. Then he leaned close and put his lips to the boy's ear. "…You're a pretty impressive detective, chum," he whispered. "Ah, sorry, I didn't mean-" he added immediately when he felt the unapproved nickname leave his throat.

"It's okay. I…I don't mind if you call me that. I kind of like it. But…you're…I mean…" His face pinched. "Why didn't you tell me before? I could have been helping you _all this time_! 'Cause I meant it, Bruce, I want to help Batman. I want to help," he lowered his voice, "you. And especially…well…are you investigating it? Their…their murder?"

"…Yes. But," he held up a finger swiftly. "We'll talk about it inside. Lesson number one; _no one_ can know the truth about this. I mean _no one_, Dick. No matter what people say, or do, or suggest – even if," he gulped, "they're hurting you, or me, or Alfred, or _anyone_ – you _cannot_ tell, or even verify it if someone guesses. It's not just because I want to keep it a secret," he explained, his tone stripped of all emotion other than gravity, "it's literally a matter of life and death. _Our_ lives. Understood?"

"I'll never tell, Bruce. I swear," he said with more solemnity than a nine-year-old should have had the life experience to muster.

"…Good. And I'm glad you'll let me call you chum," his lip twitched upwards happily. "It means a lot to me that you're willing to give me another try. I want you to know that."

"I know," the child nodded. "…That's why I am. Because I know you meant what you said." He paused. "I'm glad you still want me to live with you, Bruce. I mean, you do, right?"

"I absolutely do," he hugged him once more. _Thank you. A hundred billion times, thank you for this opportunity. For this moment. For just…for just being __you__. _"Now," he urged the boy to his feet. "You didn't give me a whole lot of time to prepare," he teased gently, "with admittedly understandable reason, but…I think I might have a pretty cool present for you inside."

"You don't have to buy me things," Dick said instantly even as delight blossomed on his face.

"I didn't. Not yet, at least. But you're going to have to get used to me buying you things, because it's going to happen a _lot_."

"…I'll try. So…what is it?"

Bruce winked. "Inside," was all he said, and offered his hand.

'_Inside'…that must mean…Batman stuff! __Excellent__._ He gripped the proffered fingers eagerly. "Can we hurry? I'm _really_ excited."

"…You bet we can, chum. You bet."


	39. Chapter 39

As they passed the kitchen, Alfred stopped them, stepping into the hallway to kneel in front of Dick. "Now, young sir," he began, his eyes dancing with joy partially because he sensed that the worst had passed and partially because his charges were still holding hands. _…Where did your socks and shoes go? You must have left them outside somewhere. Wild child, running about out-of-doors in your bare feet. _ He sighed to himself. _Well, I'll fetch them when we've finished. I suppose I oughtn't complain; after the years Master Wayne and I have spent being dressed up and silent, it's a nice change of pace to have a young person romping about as children should. _"We have a very strict rule in this house that you're trying to dodge."

The boy looked up at Bruce, then back to the butler. "…I didn't know," he apologized. "Am I in trouble?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say you're in _trouble_," the Englishman waved off. "But you see, when it's someone's birthday, as I understand today is for you, I simply _insist_ on making that person whatever they would like to eat for dinner. Now, the hour is a bit late, but why don't you tell me what your absolute favorite foods are, and we'll see what we can do."

"…My favorite foods? Gosh…" he looked overwhelmed. "Um…I like a lot of things, but…I guess maybe pork chops? I like pork chops. With sauerkraut," he grinned suddenly, clearly remembering some perfect meal of the past.

"Pork chops with sauerkraut? I don't think that will be a problem in the least. What would you like with them?"

"Ah…huh. Um…I'm sorry, Alfred, I can't think right now. There's…there's so much going on," he blushed. "Could you just make whatever you think would be good with them? You always make tasty stuff, so I'm sure it'll be perfect."

"If that is what you would like me to do, Master Dick, I will be more than happy to oblige. I assume that chocolate is acceptable for your cake? Or would you prefer another flavor?"

Dick's eyes widened. "…I get a cake, too? Like…like a _real_ cake?"

"Naturally, young sir."

"Wooow…" He shuffled his feet. "…Mom could never make me real cakes," he revealed. "The oven wasn't big enough. She had to make cupcakes four at a time instead. They were good," he clarified quickly, "but…there's something about a _cake_ cake. Especially the middle part."

"Wait, you like sandwich crusts, but not cake crusts?" Bruce threw in, confounded.

"Yeah. It's a totally different texture." He peered up at his guardian. "…You never noticed that?"

"I'm sure I did, but…" _Huh. Why __didn't__ I ever stop and think about that before?_

"Anyway, chocolate would be great!" Dick exclaimed, beginning to bounce a little in his excitement.

"Very good," Alfred nodded, resuming his full height. "…Heading off to an adventure, are you?" he queried, curious as to where the pair had been heading when he'd halted them.

The boy, to his credit, looked up at Bruce for guidance as to whether or not the vigilante could be mentioned. "It's okay," the billionaire assured him, pleased by his discretion. "Alfred knows I'm Batman."

"Oh. I figured he probably had to, but I didn't want to assume. You know, since it's dangerous knowledge."

"It is that," the butler agreed. "I'm glad you recognize it as such." _Much as I'm glad that Master Wayne seems to have realized that it was foolish to keep that secret from you. I wouldn't be shocked in the least if you met him halfway between his telling you and you guessing it, however. _"Are you taking him…downstairs, sir?" he inquired of Bruce.

"Yes."

"…Aren't we _already_ downstairs?" Dick puzzled, looking between them. _I didn't see any stairs to a basement, but…I haven't really explored the house, either. Maybe there are some I just don't know about yet._

"'Downstairs' is how we refer to where we're going when we're around people who don't know about Batman," Bruce explained to him. "Come on, I'll show you."

"Okay!"

"…Alfred? Are you coming?"

The Englishman smiled softly. "I'll be along in a short while, sir. I need to set the pork chops to marinate." _Go on with him. You ought to be the one to show him all of your little secrets, not I._

The younger man watched the elder for a moment, and then nodded. "Sure. Let's go, kiddo."

Dick giggled as they proceeded down the hallway towards the foyer. "That rhymed."

"Yeah, it did," the billionaire agreed, swinging their hands. Crossing the entryway, they passed the study and library, and then came to a halt in front of the clock that the child had noted during his first visit to this corridor. "Well. Here we are."

"…The broken clock?" a pointed face peered up at him curiously.

"Not broken," he corrected. "Stopped." He tapped the face of the timepiece. _…Will he get it? I'm being kind of obscure, but…I want to see if he figures it out anyway._

"Did…did you stop it at a certain time, or…?" the youth asked, frowning. _Why did you touch it like that? There must be something special about it, but what?_

"Not quite. Close, though," he complimented. "The time on the clock when you come to it is inconsequential; what matters is the time you set it to."

"So…what time do we have to make it say?" _…This is really fun,_ Dick thought happily.

There was a pause. "Ten forty-eight PM," Bruce near-whispered, then shook himself. "Can you reach?"

It was a stretch, and he could barely see what he was doing, but he managed the feat. "Okay, so…" Deft fingers rotated the hands until they read the required hour, and there was a tiny click. _But I didn't set it to night…wait,_ he realized. _This is a super old clock. There's no day time, night time switch. So why did he say 'PM'? That shouldn't…shouldn't matter…_ His eyes widened as they turned to his guardian. "Is that…is that when they died, Bruce?" he asked, gulping.

"…Yes," he nodded. "That's when they died."

"Ten forty-eight," Dick repeated quietly. "…I won't forget it. I promise." _…I don't even know what time it was when mom and dad…_ He let the thought trail off; it hurt too much, especially today, when they should have been here with him. Suddenly, the billionaire was crouched beside him. "…Hi," he murmured, distracted.

"Eight thirty-seven." It hadn't taken any great leaps of deductive reasoning for him to conclude that the child was thinking of his own parents, and it was logical to assume that he didn't know the exact minute of their demise.

"…Oh. I…thanks."

"It doesn't make you feel any better, I know, but…you should remember it anyway. It's important."

"…I will. Ten forty-eight, and eight thirty-seven." His eyelids slammed shut for a minute, and Bruce was just about to pull him into a hug when he opened them again. "…So how do you open it after that?" he queried. _I don't want to make him upset. He's already been really upset today, and me too, and…and I don't want my first birthday here to be nothing but sadness. Plus, __they__ wouldn't want me to have a bad day, so I'm going to try really hard not to._

_ …Resilient as hell,_ the man marveled as he demonstrated the hidden lever that could be pushed after the proper time was displayed. "…And then it pops open," he stepped back a little as the fixture swung outward.

Dick glanced down the stairs that appeared, and then returned his attention to the clock itself. "But…who resets the time? You don't just leave it on ten forty-eight, or we wouldn't have had to set it a minute ago," he worked out.

For all that they had both been emotionally distraught only moments before, Bruce grinned with pride. "There's a reset switch built in. When it closes behind us, that switch will kick in and spin the hands back to where they were before."

"Oh. That's…that's really cool," he opined, smiling shyly.

"I think so. Ready to see what's downstairs?" Receiving an eager nod, he led the way under the house, a childish excitement bubbling up in his stomach at the prospect of sharing his secret abode with the boy. _I hope he likes it. Well, how could he not? Still, though…why am I nervous? It's fine._

_ …You're going to show him everything, aren't you?_ Batman queried from the back of his head.

_Yes. I am. He says he wants to help; he can't do that if he doesn't know what he has to work with._

_ …We're you planning on taking him out, at all?_

_ On patrol?! No. Of course not. But that doesn't mean he can't help here, work on cases, collect data, things like that. He's smart, he'll be useful._

_ …Mm._

_I wonder if it's going to be big, or creepy, or…_ A list of adjectives that might apply to the space he was heading to see ran on and on in Dick's head as he descended. His thoughts only cut off when he stepped into the vast space, and his jaw dropped. _Oh, wow…_

"…Well? What do you think?"

"…This place is _amazing_!" He spun in a slow circle, trying to take everything in all at once.

"This isn't even all of it," the billionaire smirked. "There's more around some of these corners."

"It's…It's so much…"

Remembering the breakdown that had accompanied the last time he'd heard those words, a concerned expression fell over his features. "Is it _too_ much? We can go back upstairs, if it is," he offered, almost managing to cover his disappointment.

"No!" Dick squeaked in protest. "I mean," he blushed, "I'm fine. I'm okay. I just need a minute to…you know…_absorb_. This is just…gosh, Bruce, how is this even _possible_?"

"Was that rhetorical, or are you asking me to tell you the whole story?"

"…Could you tell me the story? I want to see everything, too, the side rooms and your suit and all the cool gear you must have and…and…and just _everything_, but…" He shuffled closer, aching to make up for lost time. "Story time first?"

"It's _your_ birthday, chum. We'll do it in any order you want." Glancing around, Bruce found that the chair he'd been lectured in the night before was still nearby, and snagged it with his foot. He sat, and immediately welcomed the slender figure, still trembling with delight and disbelief, that climbed into his arms. "Where do we start…" he pondered, pushing them from side to side slowly.

_…You're going to tell him __everything__, aren't you?_ Batman broke in again.

_Yup,_ the billionaire decided. _Everything. If I'm going to tell him how the Batcave came to be more than an empty hole in the earth, I might as well give him a rundown on the family history, too. Get over it. Now shut up and listen, it's story time._

"…At the beginning?" Dick, completely unaware of the conversation his guardian was holding with himself, suggested as it were patently obvious.

"Well, _yeah_," the man answered, tickling him for a second and secretly adoring the giggles that the action drew. "But how far back do we go, that's the question. Let's see…this cave," he launched his story slowly, "is several million years old." The boy startled in his lap, and he paused. "…What?"

"That's _really_ old! I mean…that's like wooly mammoth times!"

"It is," he nodded. "It formed a long time ago. But it takes a long time to dig something this big out of solid rock with nothing but water."

"…That makes sense, I guess. Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's okay. I like hearing your thoughts on things." The words escaped before he could realize what he was saying. _…It's true, though,_ he acknowledged silently. _I __do__ enjoy it._

"…You really do?" Dick craned his neck to verify.

"I really do, kiddo."

He beamed. "Yay," came a happy little cheer. "…More story, please?"

"You bet. So, like I said, this cave is millions of years old. The Native Americans knew about it, I'm sure, but I doubt they came this far back. The entrance is about three miles that way," he nodded towards the southeast, "through a long, curvy tunnel that would have been much narrower and certainly much darker then than it is now. It was the same once European settlers arrived; people knew the cave entrance existed, but no one wanted to go back very far to see where it went.

"Then, in 1687, Gotham was founded. Some of the first people to settle in this area were my ancestors. They marked out fields down in the valley, but crops have never grown well in the bottomlands along this stretch of the river. That's why you don't see any farms close to the city; the better soil is up around Newtown."

"Like…like where we were camped?" came a quiet question.

"…Yes. Like where you were camped." _Fields. Farming. Why do I feel like that plays into my investigation, other than the simple fact that Newtown only exists to process what's produced around it? Huh…_ Snapping his attention back to the child, he continued. "Since farming didn't seem to be working out so well and there were new communities being founded upstream, the second generation of Waynes, a pair of brothers named William and Robert, decided to go into the trading business. Now, Gotham is in a pretty good location, shipping-wise, because the river changes right near where the town was founded all those years ago. As you go downstream towards the ocean, it's very wide and deep, and can handle smaller ocean vessels; but upstream, it gets narrower and more difficult to navigate, and you have to have special boats built for rivers if you want to get up or down it without wrecking. It was a tricky thing at that time, because the river hadn't been mapped and it liked to change with the seasons.

"But they had an in; both of them were fascinated with the people who had been here before their parents arrived, and as children they had become friends with a Native boy who lived near to the town. When they wanted to chart the river upstream without dying in the attempt, they enlisted their friend to help them."

"What was _his_ name? Their friend?"

"Ah…" Bruce screwed up his face, feeling guilty on behalf of his ancestors. "We don't know."

"What do you mean? We know William and Robert's names, so why not his?" Dick pushed, sounding mildly scandalized.

"It's…look, you know how people sometimes say nasty things based on preconceived ideas?"

"…You mean like when my social worker uses the 'G' word when she's talking about me?"

"Yeeeah," he winced. "Like…like that. Well…there were a lot of conflicts between the Natives and the European settlers, not just back then but after William and Robert were both long gone. Somewhere along the way someone was passing this story I'm telling you along and decided that…well…that the name of the man who was their friend, and who helped them, didn't matter because he wasn't European."

"…Bruce, that's a _terrible_ reason to forget about someone who helped you."

"I agree. It is. But someone along the line – probably more than one person, to be fair – decided that he didn't matter, and now we have no idea what his name was. But we _do_ know that he was essential to their mission, and that on more than one occasion he saved their lives. We know that because Robert wrote about it in his diary, which still exists."

"It _does_?!"

"Mm-hmm. It's on display at the City Museum. I'll have to take you there sometime," he squeezed him. "It's all about Gotham and its history. I think you'd like it."

"Okay," Dick nodded. "I like museums. So…anyway…they did their river trip, and their friend totally saved their bacon but didn't get any of the credit? Hey wait," a thought occurred. "Didn't Robert tell us his name, in his diary?"

"Weeell…he, uh, apparently didn't think it was worth writing down. He usually just refers to him as 'our beloved guide' or 'our most excellent navigator.' He clearly _liked_ him, but he didn't give us his name. To be fair, he didn't use his brother's name much, either. Sorry, kiddo."

"…People were crazy back in the day," the boy shook his head.

"Yeah, well…times were different, and my family's always had its quirks anyway. Let's leave it at that. In any case, they made their mapping trip, and when they came back they managed to get a shipwright to build them a boat of their own design, specifically intended to deal with the demands of the river as they'd come to know it. Their first trip was a success, and their business took off. Now, that transport company that they built became, over a lot of time and a lot of ups and downs, Wayne Enterprises – my company."

"So your family's been rich, like, forever?"

"…For a long time, at least. Remember, we were farmers when we got here."

"That's true. But you didn't stay farmers very long."

"No, we didn't. And that brings us to the next part of the story, and closer to the cave. Gotham grew up fast even though it isn't on the ocean, partially due to the Wayne brothers' shipping company. William's grandson, Josiah, who had been gone to college in England and been very impressed with the country estates he saw during his vacations, decided that he wanted to build his own private park back home. While he was already there and could petition the King personally, he worked to get rights for a large swath of timberland in the hills above the city. That's the land we're sitting on – well, under – right now. It was granted to Josiah Wayne by royal title in 1766."

"Wait – what happened to Robert's side of the family, though?"

"Three daughters are what happened to Robert's side of the family. When Robert died, all of his business interests passed to his brother."

"…Oh. That doesn't seem very fair, but…I guess things were different then."

"They were very different. So Josiah, with all the money his father, grandfather, and great-uncle had amassed, started up a lumber operation on his new land, and dropped a fancy house and a manicured lawn just like the ones he'd seen overseas into the middle of it. Fortunately his new business did just as well as his old one, especially once the war broke out."

"Mom taught me some stuff about the American Revolution," Dick told him. "…Was Josiah a Patriot, or a Tory?"

"Josiah was…a businessman," Bruce told him frankly. "When the British were in control of Gotham, he sold his timber to the British. When the Continental Army took the hills around the city, he hid the King's silver and started selling to them. He didn't care _who_ he sold to, so long as he could sell. His son Thomas, though – who my father was indirectly named for – was a staunch Patriot. He ran away from home at sixteen to join Washington, and ended up being promoted all the way to Captain before the war ended."

"Wow. Good for him, but I'll bet his dad wasn't very happy about it."

"I don't know how Josiah felt. I've never asked. He must not have been too upset, though, because Thomas inherited everything from him. So there you have how the house got to be here, on the hill, and not down along the river. Now we get back to the cave itself." He shifted, his legs growing sore.

"Am I hurting you? I can get up."

"No, no, you're fine. There," he settled again. "That's better. Anyway, the cave. So, to make a long story short, the Waynes continued to live here, and do various things, all the way up until the beginning of the twentieth century. That's where we come back in, is with Commodore Ezra Scott Wayne. The Commodore came back from the Spanish-American War with a problem; his well was starting to run dry. So, around 1902, he decided to have a new one dug. The surveyor picked a spot, they opened up a hole…and they came right through into the top of this cave. You can't see it from here, but up in the ceiling in one of the side rooms there's a big cement plug that was put in later. After the Commodore found that he wasn't going to get any water from that spot, he had it covered with a wooden platform so no one would fall into it. That worked well until his son – who was named Thomas for the Revolutionary War Captain Wayne, and for whom my own father was named – fell through the rotten boards when he was about ten. He wasn't hurt," he assured when Dick gasped, "he managed to grab onto the edge of the platform and save himself. But he _was_ intrigued, and that close call was the beginning of an obsession."

"…An obsession?"

"Yes. An obsession with the cave. And," he looked up as Alfred appeared at the bottom of the stairs, "here's the perfect person to tell you all about my great-grandfather's less-than-sane exploits. He's the one who told me about them, so..."

The boy turned to look at the butler. "…How come you know so much about it, Alfred?"

"Quite simple, young sir; I had the privilege of meeting the man on several occasions towards the very end of his life. All he ever talked about, it seemed, was this cave." Gathering that it was his turn to share knowledge, he fetched a second chair and sat opposite the younger pair.

"…Should I move?" the child queried, looking between the two men uncertainly. _I sat with Bruce when he was talking, so maybe I'm supposed to sit with Alfred now that he's going to talk. _He frowned slightly, not wanting to leave the billionaire now when he was finally paying attention to him again.

"You're perfectly fine where you're at, Master Dick," the Englishman answered swiftly, wanting to indulge his desire to see them together while he told his tale. "Now, then…the second Thomas Wayne…" He trailed off for a moment, busy dragging up memories three decades old. "His story, young sir, is quite an exciting one…"

**Author's Note: It's such an exciting tale that I couldn't see fit to try and cram it into this chapter. But tomorrow Dick will learn how a regular cave was transformed into Batman HQ (and no, it isn't canonical, at least not that I'm aware of). On another note, I just want to take a moment and thank everyone for reading, and especially for reviewing! Those of you waiting for resolution regarding Margine Randall and Tony Zucco...it's on its way, and I promise it will be worth the wait. Happy reading!**


	40. Chapter 40

"…Much of what I'm about to tell you I heard from the man himself. My regrettably short acquaintance with him began when I came to work for Master Wayne's own parents, several years before he himself was born. By that point the elder Master Thomas Wayne was in his eighth decade of life, although that made him no less clear-headed about certain things. The few distant Wayne relatives that still remained at that time considered him a kooky sort of fellow, full of strange ideas and scandalous stories that they wanted nothing to do with. The only person who was of a different opinion was his grandson – Master Wayne's father. As a result, special effort was made to ensure that he was brought up from his nursing home several times a year to spend a weekend at the manor, and during those visits he would spin marvelous tales of his various exploits."

"Like what?" Dick and Bruce asked at the same time, then exchanged an amused look.

"…You jinxed me," the boy said.

"I think _you_ jinxed _me_," the billionaire retorted.

"But you've heard this before, and I haven't, so you jinxed me, because it makes more sense for _me_ to have asked the question to start with."

Alfred stifled a chuckle at that rather clever response as Bruce attempted to defend himself. "…I haven't heard about this in a long time. So it makes sense for _both_ of us to have asked."

"Weeell…okay," he agreed, then gave his guardian a happy smile and snuggled in closer. "…So what were some of his adventures, Alfred?"

"Yeah, give us details."

The butler, still fighting off delighted laughter at the eagerness both were displaying, cleared his throat. _Master Wayne makes a valid point; I've not shared these stories with him in years. It's a strange baptism for the boy, having so many old events poured into his ears like this, but he seems to be enjoying it. Besides, it may make him feel a closer connection to the house and to the cave, and I'll not object to that in the least. _ "Well, let's see what I recall him speaking of, specifically…you told him about the old master's having fallen through the well hole, yes?" he directed at Bruce.

"I did. That's as far as we got."

"Very good. As you are both aware, then, he nearly fell into the cave when he was about ten years of age. After that, he said, the vastness of space that he'd sensed below his dangling feet haunted his dreams. His father was naturally quite displeased with the fact that he might have been killed, and had a large cement plug put in place over the opening to prevent it happening again. Even that, however, could not stop young Master Thomas from learning more. That winter, he read everything he could get his hands on regarding earth sciences, and the next summer he set out to find the mouth of the cave.

"Having done his homework, it took him only a few weeks of exploring to find the entrance he was looking for. He followed it back, and back, and on and on, until," he paused for effect, "his lantern ran out of fuel."

"…Oops," Dick commented.

"'Oops', indeed, Master Dick," Alfred nodded gravely. "Now, he contemplated trying to walk out in the dark, but decided against it since there were a few side tunnels that he had passed and he feared he might turn down one of them and be lost forever. However, he had been setting out each morning anew from home, and had left his horse tied outside when he'd ventured underground; as such, he believed his chances of a rescue party coming for him were high. Given that, he decided to sit tight and wait; if no one came for him after he heard the bats go out and come back twice, he would try and make his own way outside.

"Fortunately he had with him a bag containing a small amount of food, a jacket, and his harmonica. He always said he was surprised that the bats didn't seem to mind when he played…in any case, he followed through with his plan, and the next day he was, in fact, located by searchers. They had spotted his horse outside, come through the tunnels for a distance, and then caught the strains of music he was making, which led them straight to him.

"Once again very upset, Commodore Wayne forbade young Master Thomas to visit the cave. He had no choice but to promise, and he kept his word to stay away for quite some time, although the place was never far from his mind. Years passed, as they tend to do. News came from abroad of the Great War being fought in Europe, and when America entered the fray in the seventeenth April of his life, he ran away from home in order to join up. He had secured a place at one of the more prestigious universities – he never said which – for the fall, but he had little interest in attending. The Commodore wanted him to study law, as there was a great deal going on in that era with regards to what was and was not legal for companies to do, how large they could get, and things of that nature. This was a serious concern for the family business, since it had grown in power to the point that it was likely to begin to come under scrutiny by the government. The Commodore wanted someone close to him to be capable of fully understanding these changes, these 'anti-trust laws,' as they are known today, so that they would be prepared to face them if need be."

He paused, realizing suddenly that the younger half of his audience might not have the background knowledge to properly place the events he'd just glossed over. "…Is this all making sense, Master Dick? The Great War, anti-trust, all of that?"

"Sure," he agreed. "The Great War, that's World War One, right?"

"Right, kiddo," Bruce's arms tightened slightly around him for a moment.

"Okay. I know a little bit about that, the Archduke, trenches, those kind of things. And you explained the anti-trust laws enough that I can see why the Commodore would be worried. Except…" He wrinkled his nose. "What's a Commodore, anyway?"

"'Commodore' is the name given to a certain level of high-ranking officer in the navy," Alfred explained.

"Oh. Okay. That makes sense, too, then. So…the Commodore wanted him to be a lawyer, but I bet he didn't want to be one, did he?"

"No, he most certainly did not. What he wanted was to continue the study of geology that he had been pursuing on his own ever since his little accident as a youth. Since that didn't seem to be an option and, as he put it, everyone made going to war sound exciting – even the Commodore's stories were full of little else but bravery and glory – he decided that soldiering would be his path, at least for a little while. He borrowed a set of clothes from one of the grooms, snuck out of the house in the dead of night, and rode to the first recruiting station where he believed he might not be recognized. When morning came, he was the first in line to sign up, and like many other young men of his generation he lied about his age to ensure that he wouldn't be turned away. In Master Thomas' case, he also changed his name, using that of his mother's family to keep anyone from knowing who he was and perhaps trying to stop him.

"He had the standard dose of trench misery for a while after he landed in Europe, and then one evening he was forced to take shelter from an artillery barrage in a low little cave. It was terribly cramped, especially when two other soldiers joined him, but it made his longing to finish exploring the tunnels he'd been lost in surge back to life. During the war, he said, was the only time that urge had been completely silent since his trip through the well cover. He always imagined that to be due to the fact that he was surrounded by walls of dirt when he was entrenched, making him feel as if he were already underground. Whatever the reason, his desire reawakened that night, and upon returning home his first concern became finding out what lay at the end of the dark path.

"To his surprise, the way was admirably passable; so much so, in fact, that he was surprised that no one had explored the place before him. Perhaps someone had, but if that were the case then they left no signs or records of having done so. When he finally reached the largest chamber, this very section we're sitting in now, in fact, he was awed. Putting his years of research to use, he determined that this cave had been an escape point for a large subterranean reservoir at some point during the past. The water bubbled up from below, creating a lake that then drained along a stream and eventually let out at the mouth of the main tunnel."

"But-" Dick interjected before falling back, abashed at having interrupted.

"Go on, young sir," Alfred nodded obligingly.

"Well…this is a big room," he glanced around, "but it doesn't look big enough to hold a whole lake."

"Ah," the butler acknowledged his point. "You make an excellent point, Master Dick, which speeds us along to the evolution of a simple natural space in the earth into the workspace you see before you today. Now, you must remember that Master Thomas was still a very young man when he explored this cave for the first time, not even yet having attained twenty years of age. Once he had explored the cavern that had stalked his youth, he began to feel like there ought to be a way for him to put the space to use. As he explained it, he felt as if he had been drawn to the place for a reason; he just didn't know what it was yet. He continued to not know as the world moved on, and himself with it. He married, and children were born and raised; the alcohol for the grand parties that had been held at the manor every year since its construction passed out of legality, and then back into it; several sections of the sprawling, multi-faceted business that he inherited from his father, once the subject of anti-trust debates in Congress, fell on hard times as the Depression came, and then in its time also passed. Finally, the sequel to the Great War was launched, and so to was a new golden age for the concerns of Master Thomas.

"When he heard of the new hostilities in Europe, his thoughts immediately turned to conflict. His company had stabilized somewhat in the past few years, and it seemed like an excellent time to consider moving into new fields, pushing forward new industries and new technologies. Master Thomas' ancestors had been primarily concerned with moving and processing either raw materials or the final products that they became; he was a dreamer, however, and felt it was high time they expand into innovation and technology development. He launched Wayne Tech in January of 1940, nearly two full years before his own country would become an active player in the struggle abroad. People said, as they had many times before, that he was crazy.

"But he remembered. He recalled his own war experiences, and in retrospect thought that the two things they would have been best served by having were better weapons and better medical treatment. His new venture was highly successful, despite the early naysayers, with orders in the armaments sector skyrocketing even before Pearl Harbor." He hesitated. "…You are aware of that event, I suppose?" It seemed a redundant question, considering that the boy had been cognizant of trench warfare, but he asked just to be sure.

"Yup," he nodded.

"Very good. Well, the war was kind to Master Thomas, with one exception; the loss of his eldest son during the Nordwind offensive, when the Germans attempted to push the Allied soldiers back during the winter of 1944. His reaction to that tragedy was to close ranks and take extra steps to protect his wife and their remaining child, who would become Master Wayne's grandfather. At first Master Thomas' edicts regarding safety were reasonable enough, but as the post-war tensions between the United States and the Soviet Union grew, so too did his paranoia. He wasn't alone in his fears of invasion, infiltration from Communist spies, and nuclear war; much of the country lit up with what is often referred to as the 'Red Scare.'"

"…Why is it the _red_ scare? What's wrong with red?" Dick frowned. "I like red."

"There's nothing wrong with it, chum," Bruce answered him. "It just happens that Communist flags and banners tended to be primarily red. The name stuck, that's all."

"…Huh. Okay, so…everyone was scared of Communists? Why? Sorry, I…I've never heard some of this stuff before."

"That's quite all right, young sir. There were many reasons why people were afraid of Communism, but since would take a very long time to explain properly we'll just gloss over it for now. Suffice it to say that people were very frightened that an attack might be launched upon them at any time, potentially even – and this is a key point – an atomic attack. Are you familiar with the atom bomb?"

"Um…m-mom mentioned it as…not being so nice. I could tell it must have been really bad, because…she tried to avoid answering when I asked what it did different than other bombs."

"Yes, and with good reason. You've no need to be familiar with the full extent of the atomic bomb's capabilities at this point in your life. What matters for our story is that Master Thomas, growing increasingly concerned for the wellbeing of his little family as the world seemed to be becoming a more and more dangerous place, had a dream one night in 1953. The visions stuck with him quite vividly, even into the twilight of his life, and he was always happy to detail it for anyone who would listen. He dreamt that Gotham was, in fact, hit with a nuclear missile. Being up in the hills, the manor was protected from the blast itself, but the fallout had the potential to be terrible, especially if Bludhaven or Metropolis had also been hit. Then, suddenly, he realized that he had a natural space for protection; the cave. Gathering his family and those members of the household staff that were present, he hustled them all through a trapdoor and down a long flight of stairs that led away from the house. When they reached the bottom, they found a fully functional and well-stocked bomb shelter, easily the size of several of the tract homes that Master Thomas had encouraged Wayne Construction to begin building a few years before.

"Well, that was that for Master Thomas. The very next morning, he began exploring whether or not the cave could be reached via a staircase from the house, as he'd envisioned. As soon as he determined that it was possible, he had a shaft dug and risers put into place. Construction went quickly after that; the ceiling was reinforced, certain sections of the cave wall were either smoothed out or covered up with new material, and areas were blocked off on the sides of the main chamber for privacy and storage. Most people who built bomb shelters at that time had supplies on hand for a few months; Master Thomas stocked his in such a way that they might have lived in the cave for years. He had counters, tables, beds, and all the other basic comforts installed; retractable steel doors were fitted into the tunnel and at the base of the stairs to prevent unwanted persons from gaining access to the shelter; the living quarters were made airtight, with positive-pressure air systems and a number of different filters letting in only the cleanest, most radiation-free air. These fixtures, and a number of others, were still present and intact when Master Wayne and I began our overhaul."

"So," Dick asked, "all of the basic stuff, like the floor and walls, that was all here when this became the…what do you call this place, anyway? It has a name, right? Is it just, like, the Batcave, or…?" He trailed off, seeing Bruce's surprised expression. "Did I guess it?"

"That's _exactly_ what it's called. How did you know?"

"It made sense. Batman…cave…Batcave," he shrugged. His eyes narrowed slightly, a frown arching his lips. "Wait, what happened to the bats?!"

"Master Thomas left the steel doors shut for a few weeks to keep them from returning after they went out to hunt one night," Alfred replied. "It was necessary, and it saved us a great deal of work when we repurposed the space. Bat guano is corrosive; we wouldn't have dared to have them around the computers and other equipment. And that's not even mentioning the sheer mess. I do not envy in the least the poor people who had to clean this cave before it could be worked in…" A muscle under his eye twitched.

"…Oh. That's not very nice for the bats, but…I guess I can see why he had to do it that way. So…was that the end of the story? He had the cave turned into a bomb shelter, and then you and Bruce turned it into the Batcave?"

"That is the crux of the tale, yes. There is one other thing, however, that you must keep in mind." He leaned forward in his seat, his face suddenly serious. "It was common practice at that time to keep one's preparations for doomsday as secret as possible. The fear was that if too many people knew about your shelter they might try and come in when the bomb was dropped, which would of course mean that there wouldn't be enough supplies for your own family. Given the scale of Master Thomas' project, there were many workmen involved, but he was careful. He hired different work crews for various parts of the task; he swore many of them to secrecy, in some cases making it a part of their contract; and he himself only ever spoke about the shelter he'd created in the presence of family and select members of the staff, and then he did so only when he was at the manor. The work began nearly sixty years ago, and that means that the few people who might still be living after having been part of the project mostly likely no longer recall it, or at least wouldn't do so without very pointed questioning."

"So it really _is_ super-secret, except for the people who Batman has told about it?"

"Right, kiddo," Bruce broke in. "And it needs to _stay_ super-secret. We got incredibly lucky that this place was as prepared as it was when we wanted to turn it into what it is now. Because all of the basics were in place, Alfred and I were able to do the early work of moving the shelter stuff into a back room and getting the Batman stuff in all by ourselves. We had a little help later on, when we decided that there were some bigger renovations we wanted, but even then it was from someone that we knew we could trust."

"Who was that?" was asked curiously.

Bruce and Alfred exchanged a glance, the butler raising his eyebrows. It was a clear indication of his opinion that the boy would be meeting other heroes sooner or later, and the billionaire's hesitation weakened. "…Superman."

Dick's jaw dropped. "…Are you joking?" he managed to whisper after a moment.

"No. Hey," Bruce crossed his arms and gave him a quizzical look. "You'd barely even heard of Batman, but I say Superman and you're suddenly a fanboy? What's with that?"

"We spent a lot more time near Metropolis than Gotham. This…" he gulped, then visibly re-gripped himself, "this year was the first time our route came this far north since the circus was back in the US," he explained. "So…I heard more about Superman, whe we were down in…in his territory. He's _so cool…_I…could I…I mean, do you think he'd…?"

"Quit bouncing," the man gripped his shoulders gently as his knees creaked. "…You want to meet him?" he read the question that couldn't seem to quite make it past the youth's lips.

His face lit up. "Could I?!" he half-squealed.

"…Soon. Not today, that's kind of short notice, but…I'll see when he has a moment to drop by." _He wants to meet you, too,_ he didn't inform him. Still a little hurt by Dick's ecstatic reaction to the prospect of meeting Superman, he set the child on his feet and stood. _Let's see how cool you think the big blue Boy Scout is after you see all of the gear that Batman gets to play with,_ he smirked. "Ready for a tour while Alfred works on your birthday dinner?"

"Yes, please! I'm ready now. Oh, wait…" He moved to the butler, who had just risen to his own feet, and wrapped his arms around his waist. "Thanks for the great story, Alfred."

The Englishman blinked, then reached down and cupped the back of his head for the briefest of moments. _It truly is a delight to have such a polite child in the house…it saves so much work._ "You're quite welcome, Master Dick. Thank you for being such a wonderful audience. I enjoyed answering your questions."

"I'll come up with more, then," he offered eagerly, pulling back.

Alfred chuckled slightly. "I'll be waiting for them, young sir. Go on, now, and have your tour. I'll fetch you both for dinner in a little while." With that, he vanished up the stairs that had been put in place over half a century earlier.

When they were alone, Dick turned his guardian, who he found watching him with a funny little almost-smile. "…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…Can I see you in your Batman costume? Please?"

The billionaire hesitated, trying to measure whether or not he felt confident that he could maintain control even under the cowl before he answered.

_I will not interfere._

_ …Wait, what?_ he spluttered, shocked by the concession.

_With the boy. I…I believe I'm beginning to understand what he means to you. I am displeased that someone – and a child, at that – got past all of my defenses and managed to affect you as he has, but it is done. As such, it would be countermanding my own mission to try and keep you from him, since you would read it as a loss and be hurt. _

_ …Was that an apology?_

_ No. It was a statement of facts. You are attached to him in ways that you have never been attached to another – not even to __them__ – and as such I can't keep you from him. Obviously,_ he added unhappily. _I will still control the cowl, and you are welcome to consult me at other times, but…I will not attempt to push him away from you again. _

_ Are you going to be __nice__ to him?_

_ …That shouldn't be terribly difficult. He's…an admirable child. I have not yet seen anything to complain about._

Small fingers grabbed Bruce's hand as he finished his accord. "...Pretty please, can I see you in your costume?" was begged, blue eyes wide and excited as they stared up at him.

The quirk of his lips broadened into a soft smile that felt unknown and yet strangely perfect. "Sure thing, chum."


	41. Chapter 41

"…Wooow," Dick breathed an hour later. Bruce had shown him virtually every corner of the cave, leaving out only the area in which he stored the dangerous specialty items designed to take down the other members of the Justice League. The tour had been filled with constant chatter, the boy unleashing a barrage of questions that the billionaire had answered with only minimal editing for content. There was no point, he had decided, in showing him things and then refusing to explain them; at best that would sow discontent, and at worst it would drive the child to explore on his own, potentially hurting himself in the process.

Now, standing in full costume before the awed youth, Batman's lip twitched slightly. _…He doesn't look scared in the least,_ he noted. _Everyone is afraid of me. Is it just because he isn't from Gotham, or is it something else? He seems to be more afraid of the front entryway than he is of me._ "Aren't you afraid?" he asked, his deeper, gravelly version of Bruce's voice suiting the image he was purposefully projecting.

Dick's face pulled a quizzical look. "I haven't done anything wrong, I don't think at least. So…why would I be scared of you?"

The vigilante's breath caught. It had been one thing for the boy to speak of such things distantly in the executive office of Wayne Enterprises; for him to repeat the conviction here, with the Bat in full regalia a mere two feet away, was astonishing. _I wonder if he would be afraid if I gave him a good glare,_ he pondered.

_You said you'd be nice!_

_ I __am__ being nice. I'm just…gauging his reaction. His fearlessness._ Nevertheless, he held back, partially because he knew it would upset his now-stronger alter but primarily because he didn't think it would make much of a difference. _He's too good for that to work. He knows he did nothing wrong; the power of the glare lies in calling out the guilt people already carry within themselves. _That, he had hypothesized some time before, was why his signature look worked very little or not at all on the most brutal and deranged of his adversaries. The glare was known and feared by all of those who still carried enough humanity to feel guilt, even subconsciously, but against those who had freed themselves from the social contracts that held civilization together it was a dud weapon. "…I suppose you have no reason to be, if you're truly innocent."

"Well, I'm pretty sure you or Alfred would have told me if I'd done something bad, and earlier you kept saying that everything lately has been _your_ fault, so…" he shrugged. "Maybe you should be afraid of yourself?"

Batman crouched down to the child's level, intrigued. "Maybe I already am."

"…That's really sad, Bruce," he whispered, shuffling closer.

"_Don't_ use my name when I'm in costume!" was barked. _I know that was harsh, but it is a lesson he __has__ to learn,_ he excused his actions_._

_ …Why? If he's going to stay in the cave and help from here…he won't be on the radio much with anyone but us, and even if he is, the only people we would be working with in Gotham would be people who already know who we are. He should get used to not using that name when we're in costume, sure, but it wasn't worth yelling at him over._ There was a pause, then a suspicion-laced query. _…What are you thinking, Batman?_

_That the cave won't be enough to mollify him for long._

_…We are __not__ taking him out on patrol! My god, twelve hours ago you didn't want me near him because you were afraid of what would happen if I got attached and then lost him. Now, __knowing__ that I'm attached, you want to risk his life with night work? Have you lost your mind?_

_ I have come to a number of realizations this afternoon. One of them is that no able-bodied youth with the level of drive that he has already evinced will be satisfied with paperwork and pictures if he believes himself to be capable of more than desk labor. There are only two ways to deal with that issue; one, preventing him from actively engaging in night work outside of the cave, which would require either making him believe that he is __not__ capable of more or simply forbidding it, or two, allowing him, with careful training and oversight, to discover just how far he can go. The first options will hurt him, either by damaging his self-esteem, which already seems to be questionable at times, or by giving him cause for resentment and distrust. Either of those results will hurt you, and therefore aren't viable choices. Through process of elimination, the only choice left is to give him a place at my side._

_…We aren't having this conversation,_ Bruce boggled. _It's out of the question. I am __not__ throwing him in front of the likes of Joker, __ever__. _

_ As I said, it would have to be done carefully. I'm not suggesting that he risk his life needlessly, especially since his is so closely tied to our own._

_ …If you don't stop talking about this, I'm taking over. Finish up, it's probably almost dinner time. Besides, I'm not even close to done making up for lost time, and you aren't exactly known for cuddling._

_ No, that seems to be your department. However, I would like to point out with a complete lack of sarcasm how the tables have turned._

_ What?_

_ When you were in the inferior position, you won the battle. He was allowed in, and I can now see that it was a mere matter of time. Now __I__ am in the second spot – I don't like to admit it, but you could take over easily if you so choose – and it seems we're fighting again. I'm just wondering if recent history will repeat itself in the matter at hand._

_No__, it won't. And this had better not turn into another battle of wills. He doesn't deserve to have to deal with another one of those._

_ It won't, for the simple reason that I'm confident time will prove me correct. There's no point in wrangling over something that's inevitable. _He paused, his tone becoming almost confessional in nature. _You are the only ally I have, Bruce, but it's hard to enact a double envelopment with one body. The boy has potential – a lot of it – and the fervor to do something of use with it. I didn't take him seriously before, and that was my mistake. It lost me the war we just concluded. Now, however, I see him clearly, and what I am seeing is something I've never witnessed before. He could go far, Bruce; farther than us, even. But it won't happen on its own._

_ It won't happen at __all__, because you're __wrong._

_ Your vision is clouded._

_ And yours is deluded. But you were wrong before, and you're wrong again. Watch; I'm right._

_ And I thought __I__ was the one who is always right,_ Batman grimaced. _But I can wait. Perhaps he can, too, at least for a little while. We'll see. _He returned his attention to the boy, who had winced at the rough order but hadn't retreated. "Well?"

"…I w-won't, Br-Batman," he promised quietly. "I promise."

"…Good."

"Batman?"

"…Yes?"

"I know it's just…you know, _you_ in there, but…you're different, when you put your helmet thing on. Did…did you know that?"

_…You keep adding ingrained skills to the list,_ the vigilante mused. _Intelligence. Observation. Personal magnetism. And that quadruple somersault…what else can you do? I'd like to see you on a set of uneven bars rather than just the parallels_ – Dick had beamed at the sight of the few old gymnastics items tucked into the corner of the cave's training area, and immediately procured permission to use them at will – _just to see how much more advanced your acrobatics are compared to my own._ _If only there was room for a true trapeze…to see you on that, I think, would be a revelation._ The problem wasn't the modifications, but rather the cave itself. Short of trying to expand the original cavern both outwards and upwards, there simply wasn't room for the assemblage and the necessary safety equipment. The labor was available to make the space larger, to be sure, but the risk that an expansion would pose to the integrity of the entire structure was too great. _Bars, though…the best training facility I can give you short of a trapeze. And even if you never end up going out on patrol, you need to know how to defend yourself. We'll work on that._

"…Batman?"

He suppressed a start, realizing that he hadn't answered. "I am aware of that fact, yes. And it's a cowl, not a helmet."

"Oh. Okay. So…you said you have cool stuff in your utility belt. Could I see some of it?"

"I'm afraid that shall have to be delayed, young sir," Alfred interrupted, coming around the corner into the costume area. Seeing the cowl in place, his mouth tightened. _Really, Master Wayne? I understand his wanting to see you in uniform, but you're so cold when you have the suit on. Haven't you been frosty enough to him of late?_ "Your dinner awaits upstairs."

"Pork chops?"

"Pork chops, with sauerkraut as you requested. I marinated them in a spicy mustard, and made mashed potatoes and peas to go with them. I also thought that you might like to try a special dish of mine that always goes over well at Master Wayne's parties."

"What is it?" Dick asked eagerly.

"Crab-stuffed mushrooms."

The boy gave a little squeak. "Those sound _amazing_! I like seafood. Like…I like it _a lot_." Behind him, a freshly un-cowled Bruce gave a low groan. "…What's wrong?"

"…You like stuff like squid and octopus, too, don't you?" he guessed with a pinched look.

"Yes! And mussels and clams and oysters-" he bounced with each aquatic creature he listed, "-and cuttlefish and-"

"_Cuttlefish?_" the billionaire cut him off, aghast. "I…didn't even know you _could_ eat cuttlefish."

"You've had it before, sir," Alfred informed him.

"…Did I know I was having it?"

"I thought it best not to inform you."

"Did he like it?" Dick queried.

"Judging from the speed with which he left the table for the bathroom, no."

"Oooh," he turned back to his guardian. "So…you don't like seafood, then?"

"I can eat fish occasionally, and lobster and crab are okay – sort of – but…no, I don't really like seafood."

"That's all right, though, Master Dick," the butler said swiftly, sensing a bit of unhappiness in the child now that he'd discovered a difference between his and Bruce's favored things. "That just means that when Master Wayne has a business or charity dinner it will be a special chance for me to make you your oceanic entrees. I personally find seafood only moderately enticing to eat, but the challenge of cooking some of the items you listed off is a rare pleasure that I'll be quite happy to indulge from time to time."

"Okay," the boy smiled. "That sounds good." 

Once the billionaire had finished changing, the trio trooped up the stairs. Bruce stopped the procession long enough to demonstrate how to use the multi-directional peephole to check the hallway, and cautioned the youth to _always_ look before opening the clock, no matter the time of day or his certainty that no one else was in the house. Once he'd secured a nod and an agreement, they moved on to the dining room, Dick's hand sneaking into his just before they crossed the entryway. _I don't know what it is about this part of the house that bugs him…he seems alright in the study, the den, the library, and even the kitchen, but he avoids the living room and the foyer like they're going to bite him._

Alfred disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve their food, and Bruce took his seat automatically. "…Dick?" he asked, looking up to find him frowning at the table. "What's up, kiddo?"

"There are only two settings," he pouted. "I know Alfred normally eats in the kitchen, but…well…would it be awful of me to ask him to eat with us tonight?"

"…No. It wouldn't be. He might take some convincing, though." _He never eats out here, except on Thanksgiving and Christmas,_ he kept to himself. _I can't count the number of meals I've eaten alone for the sake of propriety. So…good luck with that._

The butler reappeared with a plate in each hand, then paused when he saw Dick still standing. "Would you care to sit, young sir?" he asked politely. "I have your dinner here."

"Um…I know you don't usually, but…do you think you'd eat with us tonight? Instead of in the kitchen all by yourself?"

Alfred carefully set down his load in the proper spots, then turned to his younger charge. "I do appreciate the offer, young sir," he began, and then broke off. The tone of his first few words had obviously relayed his negative answer in full, because a pathetic little pout was sprawling across Dick's face. His lower lip jutted with a slight tremble, his eyes dampened, and his hands clasped together beggingly just under his upturned chin. _…It __is__ his birthday, after all, _the Englishman allowed, melting. _And he's been so very good, not just today but ever since he came to the manor. It will do no harm to grant his wish, especially seeing as how we have no real gifts for him._ "…I normally would not see fit to do so, but since it is your birthday dinner I will…make an exception," he agreed. "Allow me just a moment, and I will bring in my plate and utensils, hmm?"

"Yay!" the boy beamed, his beseeching expression vanishing in a flash. "Thank you, Alfred. That makes me really happy."

"…I'm very glad to hear it, Master Dick," the butler replied sincerely. _Heaven knows you've had enough unhappiness of late. If something that simple is all it takes to please you, I have an extremely easy task ahead of me these next ten years._

Across the table, Bruce dragged his jaw back up to its usual position. _Jesus, I'm glad he wasn't directing that look at __me__,_ he reflected. _That was almost hypnotic. I've got the glare, and he's got the pout…shit…I'm in trouble if he ever __does__ point that thing at me, I was about ready to tie Alfred to one of the damn chairs if he'd said no._ "…Nicely done," he complimented as the child finally took his seat.

"Thanks," he shrugged. "…I just like being with people on my birthday, that's all."

"Well, next year we'll have to throw you a big party," the billionaire told him. "I'm sure you'll probably have about two hundred friends by then," a small grin lit across his face, there and gone in a blink. _Of course you will. Who wouldn't adore you, other than your screwed up social worker and heartless demons like that Kevin kid? You're…god, I don't know. You're something special, Dicky. _

"…I don't know if I'd want a _big_ party," the child said cautiously as Alfred returned. "I mean…I don't really know anyone here."

"You will by next year, I'm sure," Bruce assured, shaking out his napkin.

"You'll meet other children once you begin school, Master Dick," the butler threw in. "I imagine you'll have many firm friends before long."

"…Oh yeah," he said slowly. "School." _I keep forgetting about that. _"When…when do I have to start that?"

"Not until fall," the younger man replied. "It's too late in the year to have you go now, and honestly I think we're going to have to have you tested again before we can figure out for sure what grade you should be in. It sure as hell isn't in third or fourth grade with the other nine year olds. Sorry, Alfred," he apologized for swearing automatically as he saw an eyebrow reach for the sky. _Plus…if there are any issues with the adoption papers – if Randall tries to make waves – the last thing I want is for you to hear about it from someone other than us. That won't happen if you're hanging around the house until it's all wrapped up._

"…Indeed, young sir," the Englishman agreed, letting Bruce's bad language slide without comment. "I would think you ought to start a year ahead, at least, and that's not counting the additional four or so months you have to learn in before the next term begins. We will have to work something out, in the meantime, to ensure that you continue to gain knowledge during this little break in your schedule."

"Will you teach me?" Dick requested frankly. "You and Bruce? I mean…I don't mind going to school, I guess, but…I'm used to just having a grown-up teach me stuff. I don't know how it'll be in a room with a bunch of other kids, too."

Bruce hesitated, remembering what it was like to return to the classroom after the two years he was kept out following his parents' deaths. _That was hell, and Dick's about the age I was when I went back…_ he fretted. _Well, he's not me, though. He's so much brighter, personality-wise…he'll make friends. He'll be fine. I'm worrying about something that probably won't happen, and __can't__ happen for at least four months. There are other things I should be more concerned about._ Still, the memories lingered in the back of his mind. "You're going to have to try, kiddo," he said gently. "It's important that you interact with other people your age. But it's not for a long time, so…try not to think about it too much right now."

"…Okay."

The rest of the meal passed easily, with a bit of pleasant talk being passed between bites. The boy complimented everything, and outright fell in love with the special crab-stuffed mushrooms, plowing through his own before having most of Bruce's, as well. Afterwards, Alfred presented him with a thick, moist chocolate cake, letting him cut it himself and consenting to have a small piece when it appeared that the already infamous pout might make a second appearance. Only when the remnants of the dessert had disappeared back into the kitchen with the butler did Dick's spirits seem to flag.

"Tell me things, chum," the billionaire nudged his foot under the table.

"What kind of things?" came back a bit sadly.

"Anything you want." _Like maybe why you sound like you're about to cry,_ he didn't add. He had a suspicion as to what the cause of the sudden letdown might be, but didn't want to broach the topic in case he was wrong.

"…I was thinking about…about m-mom and dad," he whispered, wrapping his arms around his stomach. "About how I wish they could be here."

_…I was afraid of that._ He shouldn't be surprised, he knew – birthdays and holidays were always hard after something like what they had both experienced, and the first time for each event was the worst – but the fact that the boy hadn't mentioned them in an upset tone all evening had allowed Bruce to hope that maybe his presence had helped mitigate the pain. "Yeah, I know," he answered gently.

"…It still hurts," his voice hitched.

There was nothing he could say to that that wasn't likely to leave them both in tears, so instead he just leaned forward and reached for his hands. They sat silently for a long minute, comforting one another without words, before Dick spoke again.

"Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…I'm really glad you left work early this afternoon."

The billionaire squeezed his fingers. "Me, too, chum," he breathed hoarsely. "..._I'm _really glad you forgave me. That means a lot to me, kiddo, it really does."

"I know. But…you've done a lot for me that you didn't have to do, and…and you're a good person, Bruce. You deserve a second chance. Besides," he added, meeting the man's gaze, "I don't really want to stay with anyone else. You're the only one who understands."

"I don't want you to stay with anyone else, either, Dicky."

"…I wish I could have seen them today," he stared back down at the table.

_…It might not be too late, if we go right now,_ leapt to the tip of Bruce's tongue. _ No, they're practically in Newtown…Newtown. I need to go again tonight, hit some of those guys again. _He'd learned little the night before, the neighboring city's thugs being surprisingly resistant to someone that they considered to be outside of his operational limits. _If I'd come home earlier, or not let Batman make me be such an ass, we could have gotten you out there in time. I should have offered, but there was already so much going on, and I was so happy to just be able to be with you again…_ A thought coalesced suddenly, a way to ensure that the hour of the day wouldn't be a hindrance the next time the child across from him wanted to visit his parents. _…Like Alfred said, he's…he's my son, now_. _In a way I think he has been almost since that first night. So…it makes sense to have them here._ "Listen," he started, speaking carefully. "This is _completely_ up to you, but…if you'd like, we could have them moved here."

Dick pulled one hand away to swipe at his eyes. "…I don't understand."

"I didn't show you this spot on Sunday, but…there's a family cemetery about a half mile behind the house. If you would like, we can have your parents moved to it. Then you can visit them whenever you want."

_Yes,_ he wanted to begged. _Please. Tomorrow. Tonight? Can they do it tonight?_ "That's really nice, but…I wouldn't want to intrude, and neither would they," he said instead.

"You wouldn't be intruding," Bruce peered at him. _I have __got__ to do a better job of making you feel welcome here…_

"…You said it's a family cemetery, though."

_Oh, kiddo._ Releasing the hand he still held, he moved around the table and bent to hug him, small fingers coming up to cling to his forearm as he did. "…I know I did. That's why I offered to move them."

That simple reassurance was all that was necessary for Dick's fervent wish to have his parents close by to voice itself. "Then…yes. Let's…let's move them here? I know you just paid to put them there, and I know it's going to cost more money, but you can totally count it as, like, a hundred years of birthday presents. Please?"

"…I'm not even going to count it as one birthday present," the billionaire pressed a kiss to his hair. "You can pick those out when we go shopping on Saturday."

"You don't have to buy me things, honest."

"I know. I want to. It makes me happy." He tightened his grip for a second, then stepped back.

"…What about the paparazzi?"

"They haven't been as bad the last couple of days. And we'll go shops that won't let them in." _…I don't even know what the best toy stores are. Well, Alfred will know, and if he doesn't, he'll find out._

Dick gave him a tiny smile. "…Okay. Thank you."

"…It's nothing," he shook his head.

"…Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?"

"The letter I wrote to Batman…I meant that."

"…I know," he winced, thinking about the sentence that all but outright said that the boy didn't feel wanted by him anymore.

"You're investigating who killed them, right? Like…like you said in your office?"

His tone had shifted into a seriousness that no child should have possessed, and Bruce gazed at him, desperation rising in his stomach as his earlier discussion with Batman echoed in his head. "Yes. And I'm going to find them, Dick. I won't stop until I do."

"I know. But…I want to help you," he said firmly, eyes soft but determined. "I feel useless when I think about them. I couldn't stop them dying, even though I heard Pop being threatened, and now…now I live in the same house as Batman, but I'm not doing anything to help catch the person who did it. It bothers me, Bruce. It really, really does."

The billionaire crouched down, considering the unwavering expression before him. _I hate to expose him to the facts that he might not already know, but…how much worse can that be than watching them fall to begin with? Maybe this way I can keep him in the middle, not feeling useless but not questing to go out and do more, either. Maybe this way I can keep him safe._ "…Come downstairs with me," he suggested quietly. "And we'll talk. I'll tell you what I know so far, and we'll go from there."

Dick watched him for a long moment, then nodded once. When he spoke next, his voice was solid. "That sounds good."


	42. Chapter 42

"Some of this might not be pleasant for you to hear," Bruce cautioned the boy once they were settled in the cave, himself in a chair before a computer, Dick perched on the counter beside him.

"…I know. But I can't help if I don't…if I don't face it," he gulped.

"…Right." He stared at him for a long second, then went on. "There are also a few ground rules we need to go over."

"I'm not going to talk about this with anyone you don't give me permission to, Bruce. I know that would be just as bad as telling people that you're Batman."

"…Good. Case files stay down here," he added. "And keep in mind that you don't have to tell someone for them to realize that you're doing something odd. For instance, no looking things up on the upstairs computers that might be tied to a case. Use the computers down here for things like that." He paused. "…Have you ever used a computer?" _They say kids are intuitive with them, but it would nice if he already has some background with technology._

"Yes. Remember when…when I told you about going to the libraries? With…with m-mom?"

"I do," he nodded.

"We would use the computers there sometimes. Not just to look up books, but to get on the internet. She liked to look at websites about homeschooling and stuff, and she would find games for me to play, like to work on my typing. We didn't get to do that very often, because a lot of the little towns didn't have enough computers for you to be on them for very long before someone else needed to use it, but I can type okay, and look stuff up online."

"That's good. That will save some time. A lot of what you can do to help me will be computer-based, here in the cave," he made clear. "When we go out shopping on Saturday we'll get you your own computer for upstairs, and a typing program."

"…Bruce, that's going to be really expensive. I could just practice down here or something, honest."

He shook his head. "You're going to need it for school eventually, so we might as well get you your own now so you can get used to it." _And more used to me buying you things. Because honestly, kiddo, I'm going to have a hard time __not__ spending excessive amounts of money on you._

The child shifted, uncomfortable with the topic. "…Okay," he allowed finally. "Anyway…the investigation?"

"Right. So…look, I want you to stop me if it starts to be too much, okay? Will you do that?" he asked anxiously. _There have already been so many emotional ups and downs today…I'm exhausted, I don't even known how you're keeping your eyes open._

"I will," he promised. _But it won't be too much. It can't be. I __have__ to help with this, they were __my__ parents. I want to keep the people who…who killed them from killing anyone else._

"Well…I've eliminated the idea of it having been done by anyone from Gotham. I'm very familiar with the usual suspects in this city, and none of them fit the bill. My informants agree. That leaves Newtown. The circus was parked very, very close to the jurisdictional line between Gotham and Newtown," he pulled up a map on the screen and demonstrated. "…See? Here's the line, and here's where the circus was. Less than a quarter mile on the Gotham side."

"'Jurisdictional'…is that, like, where police can go?" Dick puzzled.

"Yeah, more or less. If it had happened on the other side of the line, the Newtown police would have been the ones who were called out, and who then investigated it."

"…Do you think they would have given up so fast?"

"I don't know. It doesn't look like the GCPD – that's the Gotham City Police Department – even considered that the perpetrators, the bad guys, might have been operating out of Newtown."

"Oh. Well, that might explain why they couldn't find any leads."

"It might. But I was over in Newtown last night working on this, and no one wanted to talk, so they probably wouldn't have had much luck either."

"…I thought everyone was scared of Batman?"

"They are – in Gotham. But he doesn't go to Newtown very often, so there isn't nearly as much of a drive for people there to cooperate."

"Your legend isn't as…legendary?"

"I don't know if I'd say Batman's 'legendary' in Gotham," he opined, "but at least most people talk when Batman shows up around here. There…not so much."

"That makes it hard. So…what were you looking for in Newtown, when you were trying to talk to people?"

"Information about this," Bruce held up the clear container. "These are wire fragments that I picked up that night when no one was looking."

Dick peered up at him. "…You snuck back into the big top and got them?"

"I did. It was a clue."

"But you weren't even in your costume! I thought you weren't supposed to do that!"

"Normally I wouldn't have, but I knew I'd never get my hands on them otherwise. I had an excuse in case I'd been caught, but…well, when you have as much practice at being stealthy as I do, you can sometimes get away with things like that. Besides," he added quietly, "it seemed important." _ I hadn't even met you yet, but it seemed important. Don't ask me why._

"We hadn't even met yet. But…you still cared that they died?"

"Of course I did. I was there, Dick; I knew how you felt, seeing…seeing that. Even if it hadn't been murder, I would have cared."

"…I guess I knew that, I just…I'm glad you cared, Bruce."

"Me, too, chum." Reaching over, he squeezed a bare foot with one hand, then frowned. "Your feet are freezing."

"They're okay. I'm not cold."

"Still…hold on." Rising, he walked back into the changing area and returned shortly with a pair of socks. "These are going to be huge on you, because they're mine," he commented as he handed them over, "but at least they'll keep your feet warm, and it's faster than having you go all the way upstairs for some of your own."

Dick pulled them on, giggling when they reached to knees. "…They're gonna fall off if I have to walk anywhere."

"Not if we do this," Bruce corrected, rolling the tops down on themselves until they balled up enough to hug the boy's calves. "Better?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded. "So how…I mean, why…" His face contorted as he struggled to form the difficult question he needed to ask. "The wires?" he managed finally.

"Nitric acid. It may have been mixed with something else, I thought I picked up some trace elements that would indicate that. Which leads us to this," he pulled out the map he'd made of the areas controlled by Newtown's current crime bosses. "This is where the gang lines used to be," he showed him the original plots. "You can see how much they've changed."

The boy frowned at the two pieces of paper, a look of intense concentration marking his features. "This one and this one disappeared," he said, indicating two of the old turf lords. "But…how come it's just empty space on the new map? Wouldn't…wouldn't one of these other people have wanted to take over? But…huh. Their areas shrank, too…this is weird, Bruce."

_Yes__. _"You're completely right," he gave him a tiny smile. "It's very…weird. That's what I was trying to find out about. You see, what I think happened is that someone new is controlling these other areas. Someone started out here," he tapped the industrial district near where it intersected the railroad tracks, "where there was a power vacuum, and expanded quickly. It has to have been someone who came out of nowhere, a real dark horse. And that's the problem; no one's talking, and there's nothing in the Newtown police records to give me a good indication of who it might be."

"…How do you know there's nothing in the police records?"

"I broke into them and checked."

"Isn't that…you know…illegal?" Dick asked, confusion writ large across his face.

"It is," Bruce admitted. "But sometimes we have to…let's say _bend_ the rules in order to do the work that needs done."

"What…what other rules does Batman bend? Because…I don't think I can help you if…you know, if Batman…kills people. Even bad guys."

_Good.__ See, he could easily be trained for fieldwork_, Batman broke in._ He already has the most important point down, without even having to be told._

_ He is __not__ going out in the field!_ "You don't have to worry about that, Dicky," he said sincerely, meeting his gaze unblinkingly. "Batman doesn't kill people. Never, ever on purpose. Sometimes people die by accident, and sometimes it's when he's fighting them, but…he always tries to save them, if he can. Okay?"

The child kept their eyes locked, and Bruce felt as if his very soul were under scrutiny. "…Okay," he sat back eventually, relief all but leaking from his ears. "That makes me feel a lot better. I still don't like the idea of breaking the law, but…if it helps you catch bad guys and no one gets hurt, then I guess it's okay."

"I'm glad to hear that," the billionaire patted his knee. "So, that's pretty much everything I know about the case, other than the conversation that you overheard and which Haly relayed to the police. But that doesn't help us much, unless we can find someone for you to listen to and say whether or not they were one of the men from the office."

"…Maybe when you go and question people in Newtown next, you could record them talking? Then I could listen to the recordings."

"We can try that," Bruce nodded, pleased. "Any other good ideas?"

"Umm…" He was squinting at the unlabeled map, trying to orient himself. "Do you have something that shows the roads and stuff better?"

"Sure." When it was up on the screen, the boy leaned in close, half-obstructing the view. "…Dick, I can't see with you like that."

"Sorry," he muttered, pulling away. "…We drove through town on our way to make camp. I think we came in…this way," he traced a route with his finger. It smudged the monitor, but that was the last thing on Bruce's mind as he leaned forward.

"So you went right through the district where our new person must have started out," he mused. "Did anything strike you as odd?" It wasn't a question he expected to get anything useful out of – as observant of a boy as Dick was, he wouldn't have been looking for anything in particular when the caravan rolled through Newtown, and was probably more excited about setting up than about looking at industrial buildings – but he couldn't leave the stone unturned, either.

"…Just the smell," he answered after a moment's thought.

The billionaire's eyebrow quirked. "The smell?"

"Yeah. It smelled gross. We got like halfway through town, and then the air got really stinky. I guess the wind was just blowing in the right direction or something, but…it smelled _bad_. Pop said he didn't know how people could breathe that all the time. It kind of smelled a little bit like the elephant trailers, but _way_ worse. Like, super-gross, and all chemically. It kind of burned our noses a little."

_Elephant trailers…fertilizer, maybe? There's a lot of farmland around Newtown, it would make sense for there to be a fertilizer factory._ It might be totally unrelated to the case, he knew, but if nothing else it would be knowledge about the neighboring city that he hadn't had before. He searched 'Newtown fertilizer factory,' and was surprised by the number of results. "Mm. Interesting."

"…What?" Dick asked, also looking at the screen.

"Well," he clicked on the top link that wasn't a paid advertisement, "first off, just skimming those first few results makes it sound like they had some labor issues about three years back. Here, does this look familiar?"

"…We saw that building!" the boy exclaimed as he examined the picture that the arrow was hovering over. "Pop said he thought that was where the smell probably came from."

"Let's see who owns this place." Finding no names on the company's site other than the completely generic 'Newtown Fertilizer Systems, Inc.', he resorted to the county recorder's database. _I almost wish that this wasn't public information,_ he thought regretfully as he entered the plant's address into the search fields. _Something like this wouldn't be terribly well guarded; it would have made a nice introduction to hacking for kiddo._ As the system searched, he chastised himself. _…What am I talking about, teaching an eight…nine-year-old to break into secured files? _

_ It's a skill he'll need,_ Batman pitched in. _Even if he never goes into the field, there may be moments when we need information that isn't open to the public. Having him be able to procure that quickly and easily will save a lot of time._

_ …You want to make a felon out of him before he's even in double-digit territory? There's some great parenting, right there,_ Bruce snarked.

_You thought of it first, not me. _

_ You-_ The results popped up, and he broke off. _Damn. Two names I've never heard before. _

"…Tony Zucco and Ralph Zucco," Dick read quietly, then settled back. "…Do you think…I mean…are they…?"

"Don't jump to conclusions, chum," he advised. "This stuff with the fertilizer company could be completely off track. Although," his eyes narrowed as he remembered something. "…We may be right on the money."

"…Really?!"

"Possibly. If I recall correctly…" He ran another general search, trying to verify his belief. "Nitric acid is an important ingredient in…yeah," he nodded as his results came up. "Fertilizer." _Nitric acid, fertilizer, Newtown. That's a pretty strong triangle, right there._

"…So it _was_ those guys?"

Bruce looked over to find the boy staring at him, eyes damp, lower lip trapped between his teeth. "…I don't know," he said softly, reaching over to cup his cheek. "Maybe. But I'm going to find out for sure, and if it _was_ them, I'll get them. If it wasn't, then I'll keep looking. I promise, I won't give up on it. It will never be a cold case in Batman's book."

That, at least, drew a sniffle and a smile. "…Thanks, Bruce. I…I really appreciate that." He yawned suddenly, smacking a hand over his mouth with a surprised look. "Oops."

"I think that's a pretty good indicator that it's bedtime," the billionaire stood.

"But I want to keep helping you!"

"You can help me some more tomorrow," he promised.

"…Are you going out tonight, though? To Newtown?"

"Probably, yes. I need to patrol Gotham, too. I'll see if there's time to hit Newtown again. If there isn't, I'll go tomorrow night."

"Can I come with you?"

"_No._" Seeing the hurt look his vehement answer caused, he softened. "I'm sorry, Dick, I didn't mean to sound so angry. But…no. You're not going out in the field." _God damn it, I was hoping you wouldn't ask something like that. At least not so soon…_

_ I told you. It's only going to get worse, you know, the closer you get to the perpetrator._

_ He __can't__. I won't risk it._

_ It's not a choice. It's an inevitability._

_Stop saying that!_

"…But I want to help you get them. And…and other bad guys, too." Hopping to the floor, the boy stared upwards pleadingly. "Bruce…I can help you. I can help Batman. I've never fought anyone before, but…you could teach me. And I already know how to do all kinds of flips and stuff, that should make it easier, right? And…well…I mean, police go out on investigations in teams, like…like partners, for safety and stuff. Wouldn't…wouldn't it be safer for you if someone was with you? I wouldn't get in the way, honest."

"Dick, _no_," he reiterated far more gently than before. _I can't risk you like that. I just can't._ "What Batman does is very, very dangerous. It's not the kind of thing a kid should be involved in. If CPS found out…they'd take you from me so fast we wouldn't even know what happened, kiddo."

"They'd take me anyway, if they found out you're Batman," he argued. "And…well, maybe a kid is the _perfect_ partner. I mean, the bad guys sure wouldn't be expecting it, would they?"

_…Stop helping him work against me, damn it,_ Bruce muttered to himself. "It's out of the question," he told him firmly. "I'm sorry, but…no. You can help me from here, like you did tonight – and you _were_ a help, you really were – and that will already be huge. Batman usually has to do all of the research and everything, but with you here to help with that, he can spend more time on the streets and catch a lot more people. You're going to put bad guys in jail, Dick, but you're going to do it safely. Leave the field work to someone with experience. All right?"

"…Okay," he scuffed his foot on the floor. _I don't want you to get mad with me for arguing with you. Not when you just started talking to me again. _"Will…will you tuck me in before you go? Alfred's been doing it, and that was nice, but…it's not the same," he said frankly. "It's better when you do it."

"…Sure, kiddo," the billionaire agreed graciously. …_'It's better when you do it,'_ echoed in his head, making something in his chest tremble with a strange joy. _He prefers it when __I__ tuck him in… _"C'mon, it's late." Dropping a hand onto his shoulder, he directed him towards the stairs. "Wait," they stopped at the top. "What do we do here?"

"We check the hall," Dick answered obediently.

"Go ahead, then." The child had to pull himself up off his feet using one of the wall's horizontal supports in order to reach the peephole, and Bruce watched silently. _He's agile. Smooth motions. You wouldn't know it to look at him, he's so skinny, but…everything on him must be muscle. _He dropped back to the ground. "…Well?"

"Alfred's coming."

"Is he alone?"

"Yes."

"That's okay, then. Go ahead."

They stepped out into the hall just as the butler reached them. "Ah, there you are. I was just coming to remind you that it is nearly the young master's bedtime."

"We know. That's where we're heading," Bruce replied. Turning, they all moved towards the foyer.

"Very good, sir. You'll need this, I imagine," he handed over the book Dick had left in the den that morning. "Will you be coming back downstairs, Master Wayne, or…?"

"I'll patrol later, yes."

"…All right, then." _You'd be kinder if you stayed with him tonight, after your separation, but I suppose I ought to just be grateful for what you've done today,_ he thought as he turned to the child. "…Since I won't see you again before morning, Master Dick, let me wish you one final happy birthday, hmm?"

"Thanks," he smiled upwards, slipping his hand into Bruce's as they stepped into entryway. "It was a good day, after all."

"I am quite glad to hear it," Alfred nodded. "Good night, then. Master Wayne," he gave him a look to let him know that he would be waiting, as per normal, for his return from the night's duties.

"Night, Alfred!" Dick called after him as he headed towards the kitchen. "…Upstairs?" he asked his guardian.

"You got it, kiddo."

A few minutes later the billionaire was seated on the bed with the boy tucked in beside him and the story open before him. "Damn, you got a long way without me," he commented.

"…I don't think Alfred wants you using that word."

The corner of the man's lip jerked upwards. "I think you're probably right. But you still read fast."

"Well…I didn't really have anything else to do," he answered softly. "And…I wasn't sure if you were going to come back, so I didn't wait for you. I'm sorry."

"…Don't apologize," Bruce requested, shaking his head. "It was my own fault that I missed the story." He paused. "But it won't happen again."

"…Promise?"

"I promise," he swore. _…I don't expect you to give me a third chance. Honestly, I don't think I'd have the spine to ask for it._

_ You won't have to. We discussed this._

_ I know. But still._

_ …I know._

There were only two or three pages left to the tale, but Dick had been more tired than he'd let on downstairs. He slipped into sleep almost as soon as his ears accepted that it was Bruce's voice reaching them, and as such the billionaire looked up from the last line to find his eyes closed. _…Maybe you won't have any nightmares tonight, after such a long day,_ he hoped fervently. _You've certainly got enough good things to process that it might keep the bad stuff at bay._ Leaning over, he swept his hand gently over raven locks and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. Then he rose, set the book on the nightstand, and made for the hallway. Just before he shut the door, he glanced back at the peaceful visage that had wormed its way into his heart with such extraordinary ease.

"Sweet dreams…son."


	43. Chapter 43

The pleasant weather of the afternoon had shaken the last of the winter malaise from Gotham's criminal elements as well as from her law-abiding citizens, and as such Batman got nowhere near to Newtown on Thursday night. The action simply wouldn't let up, and by the time he dragged back into the cave it was nearly four o'clock.

"…I was beginning to worry, sir," Alfred remarked, appearing at the bottom of the stairs just as Bruce tugged the cowl off.

"Sorry. Long night. Long day." He stretched. "Long sleep. Call me out for the morning, would you? I'll go in at noon."

"Of course, Master Wayne." He paused, seeming to consider something. "The young master is asleep in your doorway. I moved him back into his room earlier, but when I found him there again just now I thought it best to leave him until you returned."

_…Oh, kiddo. So much for you being tired enough to just pass out._ "I'll take him in with me," he nodded wearily. "Why the _doorway_? I would think he'd be afraid of the hall, the way he seems to be of the entryway."

"It is rather odd, but I imagine he sleeps there because it is the closest he can get to you without thinking that he's intruding on your private space. He's going to have to stop, though; he'll catch cold one of these nights, and he can't be resting well in that position besides."

_…Neither one of us really rests well, anyway, _the billionaire bit back. _But that doesn't mean I want him hurting himself in the attempt._ "I'll talk to him about it. Ah…late brunch? I'd like to eat with him before I head for the office."

"I'm sure he'll be very appreciative, sir. As for brunch, I see no reason why not. Will French toast be acceptable?"

"…Do I get some, or is that just for Dick?"

Alfred gave him a considering look. "He'd protest if I tried to serve you something different than what he was eating." He let that sink in, and then shook his head. "Of course you'll get your fair portion, Master Wayne. Now that you've stopped being foolish, my attention to your food can return to its proper level."

"Good," he sighed.

"Yes, I'm pleased about it myself. The smell of burned eggs tends to linger rather unpleasantly; I'm glad I won't have _that_ mess to deal with in the morning, as I'd thought I might."

Bruce spluttered. "You _planned_ to burn my eggs tomorrow if I didn't…shape up?!"

The butler blinked placidly. "Oh, I wouldn't say I _planned_ anything, sir. Perhaps it would best be described as a very strong hunch." With that, he tipped him a nod. "Since you're home safely, I'll bid you good night. I shall see you at ten."

"…Sure. Ten." Still flabbergasted, he stripped and moved to the back of the changing area to shower. _Jesus, that man is a professional when it comes to getting people to do what he wants. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he had experience as a torturer before he came here._

Twenty minutes later he was creeping up to his own bedroom. He pouted slightly when he caught sight of the boy, curled up with his head resting against the door, one hand wrapped around Elinor and the other trailing onto the floor. _…He's still wearing my socks,_ he noted. _But he's got to be cold out here._ Stooping, he slipped his arms beneath him and carried him into the master suite. They'd almost attained the bed when his load shifted. "Hush, Dicky. I'm right here," he soothed.

"Mm…Bruce?"

"Go back to sleep. It's okay."

"…You're not gonna leave this time, right?" he mumbled without opening his eyes.

"No, chum, I'm not going anywhere," the billionaire whispered as he sat on the mattress. He considered putting him down and changing before coming to bed, then decided that it was too much work and just rolled under the covers in the day clothes he had re-donned downstairs. "No more nightmares, okay?" he requested as the warm little body wriggled closer. _Not tonight, and preferably not ever again._

"Mmkay…"

"Good." He thought it would take time to fall asleep, despite his advanced state of exhaustion, but he had no more than sighed and reflected on how strangely _right_ the weight in his arms felt when he was woken by Alfred throwing the curtains open. "What…hey!" he complained as a burst of gray daylight hit him in the face.

"My apologies, sir, but neither of you responded to my attempts to wake you less abruptly," the butler explained.

"Maybe that was supposed to be a sign that we weren't done sleeping," he muttered, closing his eyes again and pulling the still-unconscious boy in tighter, his own personal stuffed animal.

"Perhaps it was, Master Wayne, but there is business that must be attended to today. New business."

His tone warned of something unpleasant, and Bruce winched his lids upwards slowly. "What new business?"

"…Is the young master still asleep?"

"Yes. Why?"

"CPS phoned this morning." He paused. "They've denied the adoption papers."

"For _what_?!" Bruce snarled, half-sitting up. Dick shifted at the suddenly noise, and the man glanced down to make sure he hadn't awakened before repeating his question at a less extreme volume. "For what?"

"The very reason we feared they might, sir; an 'inappropriate' home environment. The person I spoke with – Ms. Randall's supervisor, believe it or not – said that they believe it is too extreme of a switch for him to handle."

The billionaire looked down at the child still sleeping beside him. "…Yeah, he looks really discomforted," he said sarcastically.

"Unfortunately I'm afraid telling them that he climbs into bed with you every night will only hurt our case."

"Damn it." _Of course. Everything was falling into place, so naturally this had to happen. _"They aren't taking him from me," he swore. "Tell Cynthia to cancel anything I have scheduled for this afternoon. I think it's just a meeting with Lucius, he'll understand. Then I need an appointment with the custody lawyer his friends recommended." The CFO had given him the name of a firm late Monday afternoon, and he'd forwarded it to Alfred, but so far as he knew no contact had been made with them.

"Both have already been taken care of, Master Wayne. You have an meeting at 2:30."

"…Oh. Well then why did you still wake me up at 10:15?" he scowled.

"I thought you might like a little extra time to prepare. Besides, this way you have a greater window in which to explain what's going on to Master Dick."

"…I don't know if I should. After the last few days…" He shook his head. "I don't want to scare him again. He's had so many ups and downs, the last thing I want to do is give him another uncertainty. He needs some stability."

"It's better that you tell him now, at the beginning," Alfred said firmly. "I understand your concern, but you must know that he will sense something amiss. Children are much more perceptive than adults give them credit for – I've always imagined that it's a survival technique for them – and he is especially so. If you don't share this process with him, you run the risk of him thinking that you are pulling away again. I know you don't want that."

"No. I don't." Bruce sighed. "…There's something else I need you to do today. It doesn't have to do with the adoption."

"Oh? And what is that, sir?"

"I'd like you to arrange for John and Mary Grayson to be moved to the family cemetery."

The butler gave him a hard look. "…Have you discussed that with the young master? He may prefer not to disturb them."

"He wanted to go see them yesterday," the billionaire disclosed. "I didn't think of it, although I should have. By the time he said something, it was too late in the evening. I asked him about moving them so that he can see them whenever he wants. He was hesitant at first, but it seemed to be because he felt like he would be intruding. Once I told him it wouldn't be, he asked if we could…bring them closer to him. He's still just a baby, Alfred," he brushed a strand of hair out of the boy's face as he spoke. "He needs his parents close by, the same way I did at his age." _The same way I still do,_ he didn't add.

"…I'll make the proper calls, then. Would you like the stone moved as well, or shall we order them a different one?"

"Have them move it. It won't be the biggest or the shiniest one out there by any stretch of the imagination, but I don't think he'd want it to be."

"Agreed, sir. I'll work on that right after you've finished your brunch. Was there anything further, or shall I leave you to rouse Master Dick?"

"That's everything I can think of for now, Alfred. Thanks."

"My pleasure. I'll expect you in the dining room in twenty minutes, if you please."

Left to his own devices, Bruce dropped back to the sheets and watched the child sleep for a minute more. _Why __you__? _he wondered. _The shared experience is a factor, I know, but…it's something more than that. I see kids all the time, kids who need homes…but I never wanted to give any of them one myself. You, though…you haunt me the way the cave haunted my great-grandfather. I don't think I'll ever be able to shake you..._ "Dick," he said quietly, touching his arm through the blanket.

"Mnph…"

"C'mon, chum. It's breakfast time. Alfred made something special this morning."

The boy looked up at him. "…You're still here," a slow smile spread across his sleepy visage. _You didn't leave me. I didn't wake up alone._

"I told you I would be, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but…" _But you weren't, lately, so…I wasn't sure. _"Did you say breakfast?" he asked, changing the subject as he sensed that what he was thinking might hurt the man's feelings. _He's trying. He doesn't need me making him feel bad about whatever it was that happened the last few days. It's over now._

"I did," the billionaire nodded. "Alfred made French toast."

"I like French toast…" his eyelids sank south again.

"Well, then, you'd better wake up, because you can't eat it if you're asleep."

"Mmm…okay," he sighed, blue becoming visible once more. "…Oh, hey!" he exclaimed, remembering something.

"Hey, what?"

"I was thinking about last night, and how you said not to call you by your name when you're in costume." Suddenly awake now that he had something exciting to share, he sat up. "And I realized that you can't call me by _my_ name on the radio. You know, when you let me help you? I mean, that would give it away if someone overheard."

"Batman's radio is untappable and secured," Bruce told him, less than pleased that the topic of Dick helping with night work had come up again so soon. _…Although I guess I should just be glad that he isn't harping to go out in the field,_ he mused. _And I __did__ tell him he could run the radio._

"Then why does it matter whether or not I call you Batman when I'm on it? You said I couldn't say 'Bruce' when you've got your cowl-thingy on, but if I only ever talk to you when you're in the cave or on a super-secure radio, why does it matter?"

"It's a…security precaution," he ground out, defeated. "But you have a point. I guess you do need a radio handle." _Hell, maybe this will be enough to keep him happy in the cave for a while. It's just a name, and one that will only be known to him, Alfred, and I. It won't hurt anything. _"…Got any ideas?" He was expecting something a bit kitschy – 'Batboy,' maybe – and as a result what came out of the youth's mouth instead surprised him.

"…I think I'd like to be called Robin."

The billionaire peered at him. "…'Robin'? Why that?" _Robins are fragile and utterly unfrightening. I mean, 'Batboy' would have been kind of an obvious one, sure, but at least the similarity to 'Batman' might win you some respect from the get-go if you end up out in the field._ He paused, frowning. _Not that that will __ever__ happen. Still, though…that name seems kind of out of the blue._

"It…do you remember when we took a walk on Sunday? In the woods?"

"I do."

"Do you remember the robin we saw?"

"Yes. You looked at it for a long time."

"Well…I mean I like robins, and all of that, but…they were my mom's favorite bird," he whispered, picking at the comforter. "Maybe even her favorite animal. I don't know, I…I never asked her." He sniffled. "She liked to listen to them talking to each other, because they always sounded like they were saying 'cheer up.' She said that…that that was a good way to start the morning, was by cheering up, because it…it was going to be a good day. And when they made that weird laughing sound that they do, it always made her laugh, too…sometimes she'd get up super early," he launched into a memory, "and she'd sit on the trailer step, and she'd just listen to them calling. I don't know why she liked them so much. I guess it's like me and elephants. 'Elephant boy' sounds awful, but…Robin doesn't." He paused. "…I like Robin. Is…is that an okay name?"

He asked the question without looking up from where his fingers were worrying a loose thread. Bruce waited, then gently pushed his chin up. "…I think it's perfect," he said seriously. _Whatever you want, kiddo. Anything to chase that sad look out of your eyes._

"Batman won't feel silly having a helper named after a worm-eating bird?" Dick double-checked.

"Most of the people Batman goes after are worms. Who better than a Robin to help him find them?" That earned him a bashful but pleased smile, and he answered it with a tiny grin. "You can tell Alfred all about it later, okay? But you'd better go change, he's not going to want us in pajamas this late in the day."

"Okay. But…you slept in you day clothes?" he puzzled, spotting the collared shirt the man still wore.

"I was too tired to change after I got back from patrol."

"Did…did you go to Newtown?" His voice was barely controlled, but it _was_ held back, and the billionaire could appreciate the effort it must have taken.

"I didn't get a chance," he explained. "But I'll go tonight."

"…Alone?" the boy queried cautiously.

"Yes." He tapped his knee. "You needed a name for the radio, like you said. That does _not_ mean that Robin gets to go out on patrol with Batman. You still need to protect the name you've chosen, the same as you need to protect the connection between Bruce Wayne and Batman, but it's _just_ for the radio. Understand?"

Seeing his guardian's determined look, he nodded. _I really, really want to help you,_ he thought, _but I want you to not be angry with me more._ "I understand. It's…just for the radio."

The deeply disappointed and slightly hurt expression that flashed across the child's face as he agreed forced Bruce to look away. "Good. Now, let's get ready for breakfast; Alfred's French toast is worth getting out of bed for."

Downstairs a short while later, Dick had to agree that rising for the day was a cheap price to pay for the thick, perfectly cooked entrée that was set before them. The butler had put out a toppings bar between his charges so that they could flavor their own plates as they pleased, and the assortment of fruits, jellies, and syrups made his head spin. _…I'd never be able to try every single possible combination before I got sick of eating so much French toast,_ he lamented. _…But I guess that's kind of the fun, is being able to have something new next time._ "…It's nice to have breakfast with you," he commented off-handedly as he carefully pushed chocolate chips point-first into the bread, each piece precisely half an inch from its neighbors. "I wish we could do this every day."

"You don't want to get up that early, trust me. _I _don't even want to get up that early."

"We slept in today, didn't we?" he inquired, having noted the brightness of the outside world once he'd finally tumbled out of Bruce's bed.

"Yes. But normally I leave by seven, which means I get up at six."

"…Yuck."

"Agreed." He paused, fork halfway to his mouth, to watch Dick slowly connect the chocolate chips into a grid using chocolate syrup. When he finished with that, he picked out strawberry slices, cut them to size with his fork, and positioned one in each box. "…What are you _doing_?"

"Making my French toast chocolate-strawberry," came back frankly. "What'd you do?"

The billionaire looked down to his hastily thrown together maple syrup and powdered sugar concoction. "…Nothing so interesting," he admitted.

The boy looked about quickly for Alfred, then put his knees on the chair so that he could peer over the fixings bar at the man's plate. "…You should add bananas. That would be good," he opined as he dropped back into an eating posture that was less likely to get him in trouble.

"Bananas, huh? I'm not usually a fan."

"But you don't normally dip them in sugary stuff, either, right?"

Bruce observed him pensively for a moment, then skewered a pale banana slice. After a brief hesitation, he dipped it into his syrup and tucked it into his mouth. "…That's pretty good," he breathed, surprised.

"Told you," Dick beamed before turning the subject back to the time of day. "Why are you up so late? Isn't it Friday? I'm not complaining," he added quickly, "just curious."

"I took the morning off because I got in late from patrol. And so that we could have French toast together," he added.

"So…do you have to go to your office after breakfast?"

The question was asked with a hint of melancholy that the billionaire would have bet money was a remnant of his having spent most of the week dodging the child. "…That was the plan," he started, "but there's been a…complication. I do have to go out this afternoon, but not to work."

"Where are you going?" He flushed, slightly embarrassed at having asked such a bold question, when Bruce looked up at him. "It's…it's okay if you don't tell me, I was just…wondering if I can go with you? I know I saw you tons yesterday, but…" He shrugged. "I like hanging out with you."

"Dick…" _He seems to react to upsetting news by not eating. He can't afford to not eat, so there's no way I'm telling him about this before he's finished breakfast. _"We'll talk about it after we eat, okay?"

"…Okay." _…Something's wrong. He's got that weird pinched look around his eyes like he did on Monday night. I hope he's not going to run away again…_ He tried not to think about that possibility, clinging to the promise Bruce had made that that time was past. Once he'd cleaned his plate and finished the milk Alfred had set out for him, he sat watching the man expectantly.

"Finished?"

"Yes," he nodded.

The billionaire glanced over at his plate. _Good, you ate everything. _"All right. Why don't we talk in the den?" He'd thought for a moment of suggesting the living room in an attempt to make him more comfortable with it, but then reflected that giving him bad news in there wasn't the best way to imbue the space with positive feelings. _You already like the den. We'll do it there._

They moved down the hall and positioned themselves on the couch, Bruce at one end, Dick kneeling on the middle cushion and studying him. "…What's wrong?" he asked plaintively.

"…Kiddo, I don't like telling you this, but Alfred says it's better if I do and he usually knows best, especially on these types of things," he began. "Let's start at the beginning. On Monday, while you were at my office, Alfred went to CPS."

"Okay," he followed carefully.

"He was dropping off an adoption application. For…for you." The boy's eyes widened, and Bruce had the horrible feeling that it was too fast. _They've only been gone two weeks tomorrow,_ he reminded himself. _It feels like so much longer because so much has happened and he's already fit himself into the house so well, but…_ "Dicky, I'm not trying to take their place, honestly I'm not, it will just make everything a lot easi-_omph_," he exhaled as the child's full weight landed on him. "Hey there," he stared down at the limpet suddenly attached to his neck.

"…If you adopt me, that means it's, like, permanent, right? That they can't take me away and make me go back to the Center?"

"It would be a lot harder for them to take you away, that's for sure," he agreed, returning the embrace.

"And you _really_ want to do that? I mean…you really _want_ to adopt me?"

"…Yes," he squeezed him. "I do."

"…You're the best, Bruce," was whispered against his throat. _No more Center. I can stay here. He __wants__ me here, really and truly. I thought he did – he said he did, at least – but…adoption would make it for real. _

_No, I'm very much __not__ the best, but…I can't say I'm sorry to hear that you think I am._ "Well, this is where the complication comes in," he pushed him back enough to look him in the face. "CPS is causing problems with the paperwork."

He made a face. "CPS is dumb. Why wouldn't they let you adopt me, if you want to?" _That's not good, but…it's __way__ better than if you were going to avoid me again._

"Part of it is some of the stuff I do to help cover up the fact that I'm Batman. The way I act at parties, things like that. They're saying that this is an unsuitable home atmosphere and that you won't be able to adjust to it. And part of it is probably your social worker just making waves."

"That's stupid," Dick said plainly. "What kind of an 'unsuitable home atmosphere' has French toast bars at breakfast?!" He grew serious. "I want to stay here, Bruce, with you and Alfred. I mean, if you both want me to. Let me help? Please?"

"…You're quite the little helper, you know that?" _First the whole thing with wanting to assist Batman, and now this. I should see about having you present charity banquet checks; you'd probably love that. I know the audience would._

"I like helping people. Besides, this is _important_."

…_It isn't the world's worst idea,_ the billionaire decided as he considered the eager little face before him. _It might only be a meeting with the attorney today, but if they see from the outset that he __wants__ to be here, maybe they can work that into our argument somehow._ "…I'm going to go see a special lawyer this afternoon, someone who can help us get this fixed. If you want to come with me, I don't think it would be a problem. But," he cautioned, "some of the things he says might not be very nice to hear, and could even be scary. You might have to talk to him, too, or answer questions. Are you okay with that? If you aren't, you can stay here with Alfred."

"I don't mind telling the lawyer that I want to live here and have you and Alfred take care of me."

"What about hearing not-so-nice things?"

"…People have said mean things to me before now," he brushed the question off quietly. "And if you're there with me, it won't bother me nearly as much, because I know that _you_ don't think those kinds of things about me." _And that's what I care about, Bruce. I care about what __you__ think. _"Please, let me go with you?"

_How can I say no to such a brave kid?_ "Sure, chum," he acceded. "We'll go together." Reaching up, he ruffled his hair. "You're going to knock their socks off."


	44. Chapter 44

They waited less than thirty seconds in the lobby of Whistler, Knight and Ingalls before being escorted back through sleek hallways to a small conference room. Dick, sensing that this was a serious atmosphere despite the smiles that people kept giving him as they passed, cut out the skipping he'd been doing down in the parking garage. Scurrying to keep up with the billionaire's determined stride, his eyes flew everywhere, eating up dark slate and tasteful tapestries. _It's fancy like Bruce's house, but without the parts that are cold and scary,_ he thought. _I kind of like it._

"Mr. Wayne," a stylishly besuited woman rose from her seat as they stepped into the space they'd been led to. "Very pleased to meet you. I'm Matilda Whistler."

"Ms. Whistler," he greeted. "This is Dick," he nodded down to the boy.

"Hello," she smiled, offering her hand to him as well. He shook it uncertainly, trying to imitate Bruce's gesture as best he could. _…It's weird, they shake different than dad taught me. _ John Grayson's method had been a firm grasping of the forearm rather than of the valley between thumb and fingers, and his son could only hope that he was executing this new gesture properly. _This seems less personal. But wouldn't you want this to be a personal relationship? I mean, it's important stuff…I wonder if they ever do it like dad did. I'll ask Bruce later, he'll know. He's probably shaken hands with, like, a million people in his life._ "You've done this before," she complimented, trying to put the clearly nervous child at ease.

"…Thanks," he blushed, knowing it would be rude to correct her.

"Mr. Wayne, Dick, I'd like you to meet Keith Jones," she indicated a figure who had stayed out of the way during the first introductions. "Keith navigated the Skarland case, which as I understand it is how you were referred to my firm?"

"Mr. Jones," Bruce took his hand. "Yes, via my CFO, Lucius Fox. He's a friend of the Skarlands'."

"He was a fantastic character reference for them, too," Keith commented before turning to Dick. "…Don't worry about a thing," he advised him. "Ms. Whistler here is the best in the city."

"That's good," he replied solemnly. "I think we're going to need it."

The billionaire was the only adult in the room who didn't look a bit surprised by the certainty in his statement. They were moving to take seats at the table when Whistler paused. "…Mr. Wayne, just so you're aware…some of the possibilities we need to discuss might be…disturbing," she glanced pointedly towards Dick, who had already clambered into the chair beside his guardian and was waiting expectantly for the rest of them.

"We discussed that possibility. He still wanted to come. But we agreed that he'll tell me if it gets to be too much, didn't we, kiddo?"

"Yup," he nodded. They'd made no such accord, of course, but he gathered easily that the man wanted him to pretend that they had. _It makes him look better, _he realized. "I promise I'll speak up. I just want to know what's going on, since, you know…it's about what's going to happen to me."

"…Alright," the attorney agreed after a moment. "Now, I'll be handling the case myself, but Keith is going to be assisting me, along with several others. This meeting is primarily to discuss options so that we know how to move forward." She paused. "To be honest, Mr. Wayne, I wish you'd contacted us before you filed any paperwork with CPS."

"I never imagined they'd actually deny my application, or I would have," he answered.

The lawyers exchanged a look. "…It was awfully fast, Mr. Wayne. That's part of the problem," Jones explained. "They think you have…" he glanced at Dick, "ulterior motives."

"I assure you that it's nothing like that," he said tersely. "I assume it was Margine Randall who implied as much?"

"She did more than imply," Whistler informed him.

Bruce's lips pursed. _So much for that deal. Fine then, Randall. You have no idea who you're playing with, but if you want to fight nasty, I'm in._ "She's wrong. There's nothing sinister about the fact that I applied for adoption so early. We just…" He struggled for words. _I can't really explain it. Hell, I don't even entirely know what happened._

"We just clicked," Dick filled in for him.

"…Right, chum. Like he said," he directed at the two sitting across the table. "We just clicked. It felt right to offer him a permanent home." His forehead creased. "Listen, I'm new to this side of the social services process. What exactly is the procedure here? I would have thought the application would have been taken up by a family court judge, not by CPS itself. I figured that they just made sure all the lines were filled in."

"The philosophy in their office is that the social worker is the person who knows the child best, and can therefore judge whether or not an adoptive home is likely to be a good fit. If there are others who know the case well, say the director of a group home where the case has stayed for an extended period, they may also be called in to give an opinion. If the case manager feels it will be a suitable placement, they forward the application, with their opinion attached, to the courts," Whistler detailed for him. "No Gotham court will even look at an adoption application without a CPS assessment."

"…So she _did_ give an opinion, then?" Bruce pressed. _We could still push to have it submitted to the courts. Anyone __other__ than her would have to see that he's happy with me._

"Yes, but no judge would approve the application with what she wrote alongside it. It's too risky. If they go against social service's opinion and place a child in a home only to have something happen…none of them want that on their record. This way, if things _do_ go bad in with a placement, they can claim that they based their decision on 'expert opinion.'"

"So what, Gotham family court is full of do-nothing judges with 'get out of jail free' cards?"

"…That's not a bad analogy."

"Wonderful," the billionaire griped. "What about getting him reassigned to a new social worker, and trying again?"

"That could take years. The last time I checked, every agent in the city was overloaded with cases. No one has the time or the energy for one more, not even one that should be as easy to wrap up as this is."

"…So you think she's crazy, too?" Dick piped up. Three sets of eyes turned to him. "Well, she is. Bruce isn't mean to me. He doesn't do bad things. She's making whatever she said up. But you must not believe her, or else you wouldn't have taken the case, right?"

"…Ever thought of going into law when you grow up, kid?" Jones asked, half-seriously.

"Keith," Whistler chastised.

"He's sharp, Matilda, that's all I'm saying."

"That aside," Bruce frowned, "…I assume you agreed to represent me for a better reason than just my name." _Because if not, we're screwed._

"…Mr. Wayne, your butler spoke with four people in my office this morning before his call came up to me personally," the woman replied. "This is such a hot potato situation that none of those whom I pay specifically to decide which cases to take and which not to was willing to say yea or nay. So that duty fell to me. The application denial was big news when it broke this morning – don't ask me where the leak is in CPS, but whoever it is, they have a very large, very loud mouth – and it's going to be a controversial decision regardless of which way it goes in the end. Unlike Margine Randall, however, I pay attention when I read something, and there's plenty to read about you. Usually, I've noticed, it's written by people who don't exactly have your best interests at heart.

"Since, after fourteen years of trying to pin something shady on your butler and another five of going after you even more vehemently, those rag sheet authors haven't managed to dig up anything like what she's accusing, I have to consider her opinion as libelous. It seems to me that your application was nothing less than a warm-hearted gesture towards a boy with whom, as you said, you 'clicked.' What I'm seeing here today only backs that up. I don't think Dick would be nearly so comfortable and open as he has been through this meeting if you were doing something untoward at home, or if he even got the sense that you were planning to do so." She shrugged. "That's just my opinion, of course. Fortunately, though, this is my firm, and as a result my opinion carries a fair bit of weight here."

"I'm glad to hear all of that, Ms. Whistler," Bruce said gratefully when she finished. "Now for the more important question; does anyone else feel the way you do?"

"Most people love scandal," she said quietly. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall, and all of that. But no one in this city who's been paying attention can possibly take her suggestions seriously."

"That doesn't fix the problem, however," Keith jumped in. "Which is that the adoption will never go through at this point. Short of you having a long, public relationship with a stable woman who you then marry, it just isn't going to happen, I'm afraid."

"…You're saying they won't let me adopt him because I'm _single_?"

"More or less, yes. That would have been a problem even before all the less-than-pleasant suggestions were made by Ms. Randall. Single people have some of the same issues that non-traditional couples face when it comes to adopting. It's not as blatant as it used to be, but the discrimination's still there. Put two single men who eschew the idea that there's any sort of a…romantic…relationship between them in a huge, empty house together, and alarms start going off all over the place. Some of the suppositions being thrown around are completely ridiculous, but those sorts of stories tend to stick with people, and no judge is an island. Even if they don't really believe what they hear, if they hear enough of it there will still be that little shred of doubt, that 'what if' about your character. That will make them want to keep you from adopting him, because they know an adoption would make it much harder for them to yank him away from you if even a shred of actual evidence were to ever come to light. They'll hedge their bets, Mr. Wayne, every time. That's been my experience, at least."

"…What _century_ are we living in?" he threw up his hands.

"The twenty-first, I'm afraid," Whistler rejoined the conversation. "Where mass media and public opinion frequently have more real power than politicians or," she said pointedly, "businessmen. It's not necessarily a bad thing, overall, but unfortunately the public doesn't always check their sources."

"…Bruce?" Dick asked softly. "They…they won't let her send me back to the Center, will they? The judges? If…if they tried to take me away from you?"

"You are _never_ going back to that place. Ever," Bruce swore, turning in his chair to look at him straight-on. "I don't care what I have to do, that won't happen."

"…The Center?" Whistler asked, frowning.

…_What the hell. Randall broke the deal first, and it might count for something when we finally get to court._ "She had him housed in a juvenile detention center," he ground out. "For five nights straight. According to the counselor at the facility, it was legal so long as all of the beds at official CPS sites were full."

"…But it was still awful," the boy whispered. "I don't want to go back there."

"You won't," the billionaire repeated, now leaning over towards him. "It won't happen, chum, I promise." Seeing that his words weren't helping, his face pinched. "…You want to come over here for a minute?" It was a gamble, inviting close physical contact in front of the attorneys, but he couldn't stand the renewed pain in those teary blue eyes.

Nodding, Dick stood up and shuffled the half-step between his chair and Bruce's. To the man's surprise, he merely stood beside him and leaned against his shoulder. _I figured you'd crawl right up on me like you do at home, kiddo,_ he marveled, draping an arm across his back and squeezing him gently. _Even upset, you're thinking about projecting an image. Is that something you learned performing? Because I haven't taught you about it yet…_

"…I'm aware of the provision," Whistler said when the child seemed to be calming down, "but…five days is longer than I've _ever_ heard of. Keith, make a note to check precedent; there might not be a time cap written into the law itself, but maybe someone's ruled on it before. Either way…that's cruel." Taking pity on the boy, she didn't press for details just then. "You mentioned the counselor. Do you think she'd cooperate with us?"

"Yes." He pulled out his phone. "I'll forward you her contact information right now."

"…Miss Linda?" Dick queried.

"Yeah, kiddo. Miss Linda."

"She's nice. She'll help."

"Ms. Whistler," Bruce went on once he'd finished his task. "Mr. Jones. If they won't let me adopt him…what's the next best thing?"

"Permanent guardianship. It's no guarantee that they won't try to pull him back into the system later, but it's a huge leap forward from the emergency custody provision you're operating under at the moment," Keith answered.

"What do I need to do to put in for that, then?"

"We can draw up the forms and forward them to your office for a signature."

"Let's do it, then. I want _something_ in place while we pursue the adoption."

"…You're best served by letting the adoption lie for now, Mr. Wayne," Whistler suggested. "Permanent guardianship might not be out of reach, with the right judge and now that you have an attorney, and so long as there's some sort of application in the system they aren't likely to try and reclaim him. It would be very odd looking if they did, at least without real proof that he was in danger under your care. Somehow," she smiled at the way Dick was still huddled under Bruce's arm, "I don't think that sort of evidence is likely to turn up."

"…If there's nothing else for today," Jones ventured, pushing a piece of heavy parchment across the table, "we just need you to sign this, Mr. Wayne."

"I didn't realize that I was controversial enough to require a twenty thousand dollar retainer," Bruce raised an eyebrow as he skimmed the document.

"As you pointed out, just because _we_ believe you regarding the suggestions that Ms. Randall is making doesn't mean anyone else does," the head of the firm grimaced. "They say bad publicity is still publicity, but there's a line there. Our hourly rates are the same for you as they are for all of our clients; only the base fee has been elevated, given the circumstances."

_I don't really care what this costs,_ he kept to himself. _Just fix it with minimal damage to my boy._ The last two words rolled over in his head a few times, his mind savoring them. "…I hope that my word that the money will be moved to your accounts by close of business Monday is sufficient for things to get started?" he asked as he affixed his signature to the bottom of the page.

"Of course."

"Good. Well," he stood, leaving his hand on Dick's shoulder as he did, "keep us informed. Anything I can do to help, I will."

"We'll let you know what's going on," Keith promised. "Rest assured, we're going to do everything we can."

"Good. C'mon, kiddo."

They were silent all the way to the elevator. As they were slowly lowered to the basement parking level, the boy suddenly gave a little giggle. "…Bruce?"

"Hmm?" he hummed back.

"I just realized something."

"What's that?"

"Well…look at their name on the label."

Frowning, the billionaire examined the three names beside the button for the eighth floor. "…What about them?"

"…_Whi_stler, _Kn_ight, and _Ing_alls," he stressed carefully.

_Whistler, Knight, and Ingalls, okay…that's the name of the firm, but what…? _It struck him suddenly, and he almost laughed out loud. "…_Winning?_" he queried, giving the child an amused look.

"I guess you picked the right lawyers, huh? Winning is in their name!"

"I guess so. Good catch." _Shit, I didn't even see that. 'Winning is in their name…' Jesus, Dicky, you've got a quirky sense of humor. I like it._ A less pleasant thought assaulted him as the doors opened. _Let's just hope we aren't the case that makes their name into a lie. _The frighteningly high odds of that happening distracted him so much that he didn't see the figure leaning against his car until they were already halfway to it.

"…Bruce? Who is that man?" Dick asked uncertainly as they stopped in the middle of the parking garage.

_Demetrios Anaxas,_ he growled mentally as the paparazzo spotted them, started, and reached for his lens cap. _You son of a bitch._


	45. Chapter 45

_ Let me have him,_ Batman growled. He'd been silent all day until he was roused by the vat of ire that had been poured into Bruce's veins at the sight of the photographer; awakened, he wanted blood.

_…No. We can't. They'll take Dick away in a heartbeat._ He paused, thinking. "…Dick, I want you hide behind that car right there beside you," he ordered quietly. "Don't move, and don't go with anyone. If you see someone else, yell for me. Okay?"

"Okay," the boy nodded, eyes still fixed on the paparazzo with the greasy hair whose camera they could hear clicking already. He scampered quickly to the nearest vehicle and ducked down, tucking his back against the wheel so he could look out.

_Natural cover position,_ the vigilante noted. _It's interesting how good he is at the basics already, without any training. _

_ This is __not__ the time,_ the billionaire pointed out.

_Agreed. Although I do have to wonder what Robin might do with __this__ worm._

"Anaxas!" Bruce half-yelled, approaching the other at a pace that he hoped would show on the security cameras as fast, but not threatening. "Stop this!"

The shutter clicked again, and again, over and over until it sounded like the man was simply holding the button down. He didn't respond to the billionaire's imperative, but a slow, goading grin spread across his face.

_I can't let how much he's pissing me off show. All it would take is one picture, one shot of me in what appears to be a threatening or irate pose, and it will all end. They'll take him, and I'll never get him back._ With that in mind, he slowed his step and let his face go lax. He couldn't be sure what had already been caught on film, but he wasn't going to give him the chance to capture anything else that might be admissible in court. "…Step away from my car."

His amused look widened as he lifted the camera, held it to his eye, and took a close-up picture.

_…He's blocking the lock,_ Bruce noted, _and there isn't one on the passenger side. Shit. _Trembling with the effort of suppressing his rage, he pulled his phone out of his pocket. "…Anaxas, either you move and allow me to access my vehicle, or I will call the police and have you charged with harassment."

The paparazzo made a face, curling his lip as if he were of the opinion that threatening to bring in the authorities was the adult equivalent of crying for mommy. Finally, though, he shifted his bulk out of the way, giving access to the key slot.

_Oh, just __let__ me meet you in a dark alleyway some night, you scumbag,_ he grimaced as he let himself into the car. _For now, though, it will be enough to just pick up Dick and get the hell out of here. I was going to suggest that we get ice cream, but if you found us here, you'll find us anywhere we go._ Craning his neck and peering in his mirrors, he tried to see where the other man had gone. _He's crazy enough to do something stupid like lay down behind the car,_ he knew. When he couldn't locate him, he opened the door and stepped out, searching. _God damn it…_

"Bruce!" a fervent little cry ripped his head around. _…Okay. That's it. _Rushing back to where he had left the boy hiding, he worked out what had occurred. _Anaxas must have slipped around the fronts of all these vehicles,_ his brows knit, _and found him. Shit._

_ Just let me have __one__-_

_No.__ There are video cameras everywhere in here._ Dick flew out of nowhere, trying to escape the behemoth stalking him, and attached himself to his guardian's side. "…Let's go, quick," the billionaire advised, grabbing his hand. _The car windows are tinted, once we get inside we'll be fine. _As they swept back over to their salvation, Bruce saw Anaxas step out ahead of them. _How does someone that big move so fucking fast?!_ The shutter echoed. _…Shit. Kiddo and I holding hands in a parking garage. Front page of every tabloid tomorrow, guaranteed. _The pictures he was taking at the moment were likely to net the paparazzo several tens of thousands of dollars, the billionaire knew, and judging from the gleaming teeth visible his Cheshire cat smile the Nikon-bearing vulture was doing the same financial calculations. _And it will be the first picture of Dick anyone's gotten. Add another ten grand. _Sending a tight look towards his adversary, he hustled the child into the vehicle and then climbed in after him.

"…Are they _always_ like that with you?" came from the backseat after both had recovered for a moment.

"No. Well, Anaxas is – he's the one who hit the hood of the car while you were in it the other day, I'm sure of that – but even he's never gone this far before. I can't _believe_ he wouldn't let me into the car."

_…I know why you couldn't, but you should have let me have him. He'd never take pictures again if you had._

_Yeah, I know. That's exactly why I couldn't let you have him._ He paused. _No matter how much I wanted to._

No attempt was made to prevent them from backing out of their spot and leaving, and when he pulled up to the exit Bruce made sure to give the attendant a brief rundown of what had happened. "…I'd appreciate it if I could park here in the future without having to worry about this being repeated," he commented.

"I'll speak to my supervisor about it, Mr. Wayne, and see if we can't get Mr. Anaxas on our no-entry list. He'll want to review the security footage and all of that, get an objective angle on what happened, before he makes a decision."

"…Sure," he nodded, a little disappointed that it wasn't going to happen instantly but able to understand the need to follow protocol. "Thank you."

"I'm really glad you didn't hit him, Bruce," Dick told him as they pulled into traffic.

"I sort of wish I _had_, but…"

"No! They'd take me away and put me…put me back in the Center," came a protest. "I was so afraid you were going to blow up on him when you told me to hide."

"I just didn't want him getting any pictures of you. I know he got some at the end, of you and I together; did he get any when he snuck around the cars?"

"I don't think so," the boy shook his head. "I knew he was coming, so I went the other way and started trying to get to you. If he took any pictures, they'll just be of my back."

_Good boy,_ he shot him a brief look of approval in the rearview.

_Evasive tactics,_ Batman pitched in.

_Knock it off. Let's just get home._

The atmosphere in the car loosened as they put distance between themselves and the parking garage, and by the time they pulled up in front of the manor Dick was passed out. Smiling slightly, Bruce lifted him out and carried him inside to where Alfred was waiting in the foyer.

"…Busy afternoon, sir?" he inquired, nodding towards the slumbering child.

"Lawyers and Anaxas." Shucking his shoes, the billionaire quickly explained what they'd found upon stepping from the elevator while the butler gently pried the boy's footgear off.

"…Ah," a muscle under the older man's eye twitched at the mention of the photographer. "Did he get anything?"

"Front-page worthy shots of Dick and I together in the parking garage. But," he considered, "that should overshadow any of the first pictures he took of me alone, which would be good since it took me a second to stop yelling at him."

"I see. Well…I can hardly blame you for being upset, having been ambushed like that, but at least you managed to bring yourself under control. That will go a long way in front of a judge, I imagine." As he spoke, his younger charge yawned, eyes fluttering open. "Awake I see, young sir. Very good timing; you have a package waiting for you on the breakfast bar."

The child blinked for a minute, and then his face lit up. "Is it from-?" he broke off, hopeful but afraid that he was wrong.

"It is addressed from a Cornelius Haly, so I must surmise that it was sent by your friends in the circus," Alfred answered the unfinished query.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, he flew towards the kitchen. Watching him go, Bruce frowned. "You aren't going to yell at him for running in the house?"

"…Did you _want_ me to yell at him, Master Wayne?" the butler arched an eyebrow.

"Well, no, but…you never let _me_ get away with that."

"I did not, you are correct. Then again, sir, you never received a box from a traveling circus." He paused. "I had hoped it would be larger. I fear they only sent him a few small things, rather than the bulk of his belongings as we may have hoped they would."

"…Well," the billionaire shrugged, "I guess there's only one way to find out what's in the box, and that's to watch him open it." _If I can't watch him unwrap birthday presents thanks to my own stupidity, I can at __least__ see him tear into this,_ he thought. "Let's go see what he got."

**Author's Note: Sorry about the super short chapter today; I had zero time to write yesterday evening, but I didn't want to leave you hanging after yesterday's ending. Happy reading!**


	46. Chapter 46

Several books, a couple of small toys, and a few articles of clothing were stacked on the breakfast bar by the time Bruce and Alfred made it into the kitchen. "Well, Master Dick," the butler commented. "They fit a fair bit into that little box, didn't they?"

"Yeah," he answered, dropped packing paper rustling at his feet as he turned to face them. "Including the most important thing." There, draped over his arm, was his trapeze costume, as bright and sparkling as it had been the last time he'd put it on. "…I didn't think I'd ever see it again when I had to leave it in the trailer." A beaming smile warred with the wetness in his eyes for dominion over his expression as he held the garment out. "Bruce saw it the night…at the show," he changed course mid-sentence, "but I know _you've_ never seen it, Alfred."

"Indeed I have not," he agreed, coming closer. "It's quite colorful."

"That's the point," the boy explained eagerly. "If it's bright it catches the light better. Then when you're moving through the air it isn't so hard for people to keep track of you. It's pretty hard to be impressed by a trick you didn't see."

"Very true, young sir. It's lovely. I'll have to scrounge up some paper to store it in so that it isn't damaged by dust."

Dick's face became pensive. _…I guess it'll have to go in a drawer,_ he realized. _It's not like I have anywhere to wear it now. But…_ An idea struck. He might not be able to wear his circus costume, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some sort of a _new_ outfit for the moments when he was more than an average kid. "…Bruce?"

"What's up, chum?" the billionaire replied from where he leaned in the doorway.

"I was thinking…I mean-" He broke off, then glanced around quickly to make double sure that it was just the three of them in the room. _I think Alfred would have said if someone else was in the house, but…it's a super important secret, Bruce said._ "Well, Batman has a costume, right?"

"…Yeeeah," the man answered slowly. _I know where you're heading with this, kiddo. Stop now so I don't have to say no. I've only had to do that a few times before, but I already hate it. Please don't make me._

"So…shouldn't Robin have one, too? Not _this_ one, that would be way too obvious, but…we could come up with something else. Couldn't we?"

_Damn it._ "Dick," he started.

"One moment, please, Master Wayne," the Englishman stopped him. "I seem to be a bit out of the loop. Who is this Robin character of whom you're speaking?" _I have a sneaking suspicion, but I can't imagine that you're seriously considering allowing him to engage in such a dangerous business as night work._

"Me!" Dick grinned, rising up and down on his toes in his excitement. "Bruce said I could help Batman, so I needed a secret name. I picked Robin."

"I told you that you could help on the radio and with cave-based research," the billionaire said firmly before Alfred had a chance to melt him with a truly evil look. "We've talked about this before; you're not coming out with me. It's too dangerous."

"Quite right it is," the butler pitched in. Seeing a deep frustration rising in the boy's gaze, he quickly continued. "But I don't see why you couldn't have a costume to wear while you're on the radio. Personally, I find putting on the proper clothing is very helpful when one is trying to get into character. If Robin is to be your character, then I suppose it makes sense that he ought to have his own special outfit. Don't you, sir?" he asked his elder charge pointedly. _He's a child. Let him play at a bit of dress-up if it makes him happy. Besides, what I said was no lie; if you require an example of its veracity, you need look no further than your own cowl._

_Alfred has a point about being in character,_ Batman contributed.

_You weren't invited to this conversation,_ Bruce snapped back, irritated. He knew where this was leading; first the name, and now a costume. Soon it would be a mask, and training, and going on patrol, and that wasn't what he wanted for the boy.

_Don't be stupid. I'm invited to all of your conversations, the same as you are invited to all of mine._

_ Well, I'm revoking your speaking privilege for the duration of this one._ _You're welcome to observe, only._

_ I thought __I__ was the authoritarian, not you?_

_…Shut up. _As opposed as he was, though, he had no argument to make other than there being no point in creating an outfit for a character that would never be seen outside of the cave. Since Alfred had handily divested him of his only defense and was clearly on the boy's side, he had no choice but to agree, at least not if he wanted his dinner to be edible. "Robin can have a costume on _one_ condition," he ruled slowly.

"Okay!"

He frowned. "You didn't even wait to hear the condition."

"I don't really care what it is. Robin needs a costume, so I'll do whatever needs done to get one."

He almost laughed. "What if the condition is that it has to include a…I don't know…a pink tutu, or something?"

Dick peered at him for a long moment. "No," he shook his head. "You aren't mean enough to actually _enforce_ that condition. Besides, a tutu would get in my way."

"How would a tutu get in the way of you answering the radio and typing, which are the only two things you'll be doing?" was batted back.

"…It could make it hard to sit in the chair. And just because Robin _starts_ in the cave doesn't mean he can't…you know…work his way up?" he asked, gazing at the billionaire with wide eyes and a half-pout.

"You're going to be on the radio for a _long_ time before that even begins to become an option," Bruce informed him. "You might not even want to _be_ Robin anymore by that point."

"…Why would I ever want to stop helping people, Bruce?"

"I…you can help people without being Robin," he sputtered.

"Yeah, but not…not as big."

_Shit. Uh…_ "Oh, yeah? How about I show you just how big you can help without a costume on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Alfred, did you already cancel my spot at the Foundation dinner tomorrow night?"

"I did, sir, but seeing as how it's your charity I don't imagine it will be too much of an inconvenience to reverse the decision."

"Good. And tell them to add a chair next to mine. Also, Dick's going to need a tuxedo."

The boy wrinkled his nose. "Eww. Those things look uncomfortable."

"They are," Bruce informed him, kneeling and gripping his shoulder. "I want you to see how much good can be done by people who _don't_ go out and pummel bad guys. But I also want you to see that doing good isn't all fun and games. It isn't even _mostly_ fun and games; what it mostly is is hard work."

"I know it's work," he protested. "But that doesn't make me want to do it any less."

He wrestled down the pride that swelled in him at those words. "Well, then…you'll have to prove it."

"Okay," Dick nodded. "…So I have to wear the tuxedo?"

"Yes. You do."

"And then you'll let Robin have a costume?"

"…Yes. _With _the condition that I mentioned; Robin can have a costume," he stood back up, "so long as it doesn't leave the cave, through _any_ exit, without my explicit permission." _You're not going out there. They'd eat you alive if they got their hands on you._

"…Okay."

"Were you still planning on going birthday shopping tomorrow, Master Wayne?" Alfred inquired once things regarding Robin seemed to have been settled. "Only I'm thinking of when we might have Master Dick fitted. The earlier tomorrow morning the better, so they've time to take it in if need be." _And it __will__ need adjusted, as thin as he is,_ he thought. "I could make you an appointment for ten, and then you'd have the rest of the day to enjoy yourselves. I'll go over first thing tomorrow and select a few styles for you to choose from," he added, seeing the hesitancy on Bruce's face. "Then you need only pick and have him try it on."

"…Ten seems a little early for a Saturday."

The butler sighed internally. "Eleven, then. I really can't ask them to rush it any more than that, it will have to be at the house no later than six if you're to be on time to the dinner at eight. Coincidentally, you'll have to leave before you usually would. I know the event lasts until midnight, but Master Dick really oughtn't be out in company so late."

"I don't mind," Dick told them. "I'm used to being up late on weekends. Everyone always stays aake after a show, cleaning up and talking and just…having fun," he shrugged, suddenly looking a bit downcast.

"Nevertheless, we need to get you on a regular schedule," Alfred reminded him. "I suppose the occasional late weekend evening won't hurt, though. Now, young sir, if you would like to remove your newly arrived things to your bedroom, I believe there may be time for a cookie before dinner."

_That_ made his mouth curve upwards. "Okay!" He hastily grabbed up his possession and made to carry them upstairs, arms overflowing. "Be right back!"

"Put them away neatly, please," the butler called after him. "Not that there's really enough there for him to make the room messy even were he to try," he tacked on when he knew the child was out of earshot.

"We'll work on that tomorrow. He might not like me spending money on him, but I'll be damned if that keeps me from doing it anyway."

"Speaking of tomorrow…it's a very good idea, taking him to the dinner."

"I don't want him thinking that going out on patrol is a walk in the park," Bruce said. "If he realizes how much work it is on top of being dangerous, maybe he'll think twice about wanting to do it. I can't take him out with me to show him, so…this is the next best thing I could think of."

"I was referring to the public image it will help establish," Alfred commented. "If you are seen taking him to these sorts of events already, it should be clear that you have long-term intentions for him. Watching you interact with him the way you do may also cause a few people to think twice about believing what they read in the tabloids. On that note, however," he said sternly, "do keep an eye on the time. Taking him to a charity dinner is an excellent opportunity to build up public favor; letting him fall asleep at the table while you drink and chat with other attendees will turn what could be a point on our side into a victory for theirs."

"…The paparazzi will be thick if they find out he's going to be there."

"When I call I'll be certain to mention that you would appreciate extra guards and a well-controlled entrance area. I'll keep Master Dick a secret and just ask them to have the extra chair in place anyway."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course, sir." He paused. "Have you plans for this evening?"

"No. I thought I'd see what kiddo wants to do."

"Very good, sir. If you're interested, I heard a rumor that there may be aurora visible after dark. It's supposed to be quite faint, but you might get a decent view of any that appears from the pond."

"…Yeah, maybe we'll do that. Go for a little walk after dinner. I haven't taken him out to the pond yet."

"Your coats will be waiting for you."

"…Question."

"Hmm?"

"Cookies at five o'clock?"

"You've had but one meal today, sir, and your dinner is going to be later than usual, seeing as how I haven't yet started it. Of course, if you don't _want_ a cookie to hold you…" he trailed off, amusement in his eyes.

"Of course I want one," Bruce gave him an odd look. "It was just an unusual offer, that's all."

"…Rather than being jealous over my allowing things with Master Dick that you may not recall me permitting with you," the butler advised as he turned away long enough to pull down a small airtight container from one of the cabinets, "I would advise that you simply enjoy the opportunity to have a treat at this hour." With that, he opened the tin and held it out towards his elder charge. "It shouldn't require any great leap of logic to see that you're benefitted by all of this, and in more ways than one."

"…Yeah," the billionaire conceded after a minute, reaching into the bin. "I guess you're right."

A few hours more with the boy were sufficient to turn his guess into a certainty once more. Spilling out onto the patio shortly after dinner, Dick unabashedly grabbed his guardian's hand, then skipped along beside him as they cut over the lawn. "Where're we going?" Bruce had suggested that they go for a walk, and he'd agreed without asking what their destination was. Outside, however, his curiosity was piqued.

"To the pond."

"…You have your own pond?"

_…Uh oh. You were comfortable on our walk on Sunday, but you were uncomfortable with the house. You're getting used to the house – you didn't say a word earlier about having to cross the entryway so you could take your stuff upstairs and come back for cookies – but that tone…I don't want you to get scared of the grounds now._ "I do. It's not too far away from here."

"…I like ponds."

_Oh, thank god. _"Yeah? Me, too." He paused. "Alfred said there might be aurora tonight."

"…Aurora borealis? No way!" He hopped a few steps. "That's pretty rare this far south, isn't it?"

"It is." _I'd ask where you learned so much about atmospheric phenomena, but I'm afraid the answer would just upset you, _he thought. _I might not know much about your mother, but if __you're__ any indication then she was no slouch, intellectually speaking._ His thoughts paused as he realized a major gap in his preparations to take in the boy currently clutching his fingers. _…I didn't even __try__ to look for information on his parents,_ he gasped silently. _Jesus, what's wrong with me? I'm losing my touch…maybe tonight, after he's gone to bed, there will be time. I can't believe myself…_

They reached the small body of water fifteen minutes later. Bruce led them to a low, grassy hillock that had dried in the day's scanty sunlight, and there they sat, staring up at the sky and waiting. Words passed between them, but they were few and far between. "…Cold?" Bruce asked finally, seeing what he thought had been a tiny shiver in his peripheral vision.

"Um…maybe a little? But I don't want to go in yet."

The billionaire raised one arm. "Well, I guess you'd better come over here, then." A chilly little bundle of acrobat was instantly pressed against his side, begging silently to be snuggled close, and before he knew he was doing it the man had not only obliged but also let out a contented sigh. "…I'm surprised the clouds cleared off," he opined after a short while.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They don't do that very often in Gotham."

"Oh. That's depressing."

The statement was made so frankly that he had to chuckle. "It is, isn't it?"

"Yes." Now it was Dick's turn to sigh. "So is the fact that I _really_ need to go to the bathroom."

"We'll head back, then."

"I…I could just go in the woods," the child suggested. "It doesn't bother me, since it's kind of bright out. I just didn't want to assume that it was okay with you. I mean…they're _your_ woods, so…"

"Things go to the bathroom in the woods every day, Dick. I don't think I'll be irreparably offended." He paused. "Don't go in too far, though, okay?"

"I'll just go to the edge." Released, he vanished almost silently towards the trees behind their seat. As soon as he was gone, Bruce felt the cool air rush in to fill his place, and shuddered. Wrapping his arms around himself, he fell into reflection as he watched the stars overhead. _I wasn't cold before he was next to me, and I wasn't cold when he was right here, but he goes just a few steps away and suddenly I'm freezing…_

_A little late to discover that maybe I was right to begin with, isn't it?_

_ You weren't right. And I'm not discovering anything, I'm just…musing._ A beat passed. _…That costume's going to be bright as hell, isn't it?_

_ I imagine it will be. __Terrible__ for stealth. That's a problem._

_ A dark cape would take care of that…hey. No. He doesn't need to worry about stealth,_ he corrected himself. _Because he __isn't__ going out!_

_ Wait for it._

"Bruce!" An urgent whisper burst into being beside his ear as the boy slid back into his spot.

"Careful, Dick, you won't _believe_ the look Alfred has for grass stains."

"No, Bruce!" he clawed desperately at his arm, eye wide. "I think there was someone in the woods."

The billionaire watched him for a moment. _He does seem legitimately panicked, but…how could anyone get in? The entire property is fenced, and Alfred monitors the electrical current on the road-accessible portions regularly. Even if they walked back to the voltage-free areas, they'd have to know where they were going, or they'd be completely lost. _Still, the boy's insistent expression unsettled something in his stomach. "Do you want me to come back there with you, or…?"

"Maybe…maybe we should just go back to the house. I'm sorry," he apologized, "I know we walked all the way out here and we haven't even seen what we came for, but…" He glanced back over his shoulder. "I'm _certain_, Bruce."

"Okay," he soothed him. "There probably won't actually be any aurora, anyway. Besides, look," he gestured upwards. "The clouds are starting to come in again. It's okay. We'll go back."

As they retraced their steps, Dick relaxed. "…I feel kind of silly now," he confessed when they reached the end of the trail and came into view of the manor. "I mean…I was just so _sure_, you know?"

"Better to act on a gut feeling than not," the man advised. "Especially when you're out and about by yourself."

"Yeah, but…I hope I didn't make us miss the show."

"I doubt we would have been able to see it even if there'd been one," Bruce reassured. "Besides, with the moon covered it's getting pretty dark out. It's probably a good thing that we headed back when we did."

"That's true." _I'm glad this didn't turn into my nightmare,_ the child gulped. He hadn't thought about it before, but other than it being night rather than day the walk they'd just had was similar to the one they'd taken in his dream; pleasant, right up until things became dark and a sense of dread welled in his stomach. His panic piqued, he gripped the billionaire's hand tightly all the way up to the front door.

"Good evening, sirs," Alfred greeted them. "I wondered if you would be back soon, with the weather moving in as it is. They're calling for rain now, it seems. Were you fortunate enough to see lights?"

"No, but Dick thought there was someone in the woods," Bruce informed him gravely.

"…Did you, young sir?" the butler asked in an equally serious tone. "I'll check the perimeter immediately. There are a few more cookies laid out for you in the kitchen, and then it's bedtime, young sir." With that, he vanished down the hallway containing the study and the clock, suddenly intent on his mission.

"Aww, but it's the weekend."

"Yeah, but you're getting to stay up late tomorrow. _And_ we have a big day ahead of us."

"…Are you going out tonight, though?"

"I don't know," he answered slowly. _I want to research your parents_, he couldn't say aloud. _And I don't really feel comfortable leaving the property if someone might be snooping around outside. The last thing I want is for Batman to have to come rushing up to a police call at Wayne Manor._ "It depends on what Alfred says. Besides, Robin won't be Robin without a costume, so he wouldn't be able to help tonight anyway, right?"

Dick opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, gathering that saying Robin could operate without a costume would be as good as saying he really didn't need one at all. "…I guess you're right."

"Master Wayne," the Englishman reappeared, his face cautious. "There is a section of fence down approximately a half mile from here. It's somewhat removed from the road, and the camera shows a tree lying across it. It's not unusual for one or more spans to have downed trees on them in spring and fall, so it may be a perfectly natural outage. I'll have someone out to fix it first thing tomorrow, of course, but in the meantime-"

"I'm not patrolling tonight," he announced, cutting him off. "Not with the fence compromised." There was no reason to think anyone would take advantage of the situation – not even the paparazzi were that bold these days, not with electrified fences and the risk of prosecution hanging over their heads if they invaded Wayne Manor – but something told him to stay put. _That gut instinct I was just talking to kiddo about, maybe,_ he smirked mirthlessly. "But it's still your bedtime after cookies, kiddo."

"Can I sleep in your room?"

"…You need to try and sleep in _your_ room, first. If you wake up from a nightmare, though," he went on, "you can go in and get in my bed, even if I'm not there. _Don't_ sit in the hallway again, okay? You're going to make yourself sick if you keep doing that."

"Okay," he nodded. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now, let's go get your cookies and get you tucked in. I've got work to do downstairs."

"You'll tuck me in?"

"Of course I will."

Twenty minutes later, Dick was standing in front of his window, clad in pajamas and waiting for Bruce to bring up a book he claimed was a good read. There was no rain or wind yet, but the dark sky left no doubt that they would start up soon. _I wonder why I thought someone was in the woods,_ he pondered as he stared towards the invisible tree line. _It's weird that part of the fence is down tonight, too, but…Bruce didn't seem __so__ worried, even if he is staying home from patrol. Besides, they couldn't get into the house, there's that fancy alarm system downstairs. And who would break into Batman's house, anyway? Although if no one knows he's Batman…still. They'd be crazy to try that. There's no one out there._

There was a tiny red flash several hundred yards away. At first he thought his eyes were played tricks on him, and then it repeated. He gasped and tried to take a step back, but a pair of knees blocked him. "…Bruce?"

"Don't move," the billionaire ordered immediately. A hand landed on his shoulder, comforting him as it held him in place. "Keep your face as normal as possible. Pretend we're talking about Robin. There you go," he watched his reflection in the glass. "Nice and easy. We have no idea that there's someone laying at the edge of the woods taking pictures of us."

"…Is that what that is? Why is there no flash?"

"Because Anaxas isn't stupid enough to think we wouldn't notice that. He's using the light of the room to get us. The pictures will be grainy, but they're also the first unauthorized pictures that have been taken on this property in several years. And they're of you and I, so twice the price, at least."

"…And _why_ exactly are we just standing here and letting him do this?"

Bruce smiled. _Smart little thing._ "Because we don't want to arouse suspicion. If he thinks that we don't know he's there, he'll keep watching, maybe long enough for the police to catch him on property. He might even come further out onto the lawn, if he's feeling bold and we give him the opportunity." He paused. "But Dick, we don't have to do that. If you're uncomfortable, I can just close the drapes and then call the police. He might still be there when they arrive, considering all the effort that he must have gone through to get this far." _…Please help me do this. I want that bastard in cuffs, and this is the first good opportunity I've ever had to make him that way. I would just bet that he helped that tree fall…_

"I'm okay," the boy said decisively. "This guy's not nice. He shouldn't sneak up to people's houses to take pictures of them when they want to be left alone. I want to help make sure the cops get him."

"…You remember what I said earlier about doing good things even when you're not Robin?" the billionaire breathed, pleased.

"Yes. Why?"

"Because we're about to do it."


	47. Chapter 47

The plan was simple. They sat on the broad window seat, placing their backs to the outside as if nothing out there could possibly be of concern to them, and read two pages. At that point, Dick turned and asked Bruce if he could have a glass of water. Nodding, the billionaire stood up, handed him the book, and walked out, leaving the boy to serve as a distraction for the cameraman. As soon as he was out of sight he picked up his pace, all but racing to the kitchen. Just before turning in he slowed again, unsure if the window that looked out over the back lawn was open or not.

"Master Wayne," Alfred looked up as he entered. "Asleep already, is he?"

"No." _Good, the blinds are closed. That helps a lot._ "Listen. Dick _did_ sense someone in the trees earlier."

"I beg pardon, sir?"

"Anaxas is laying at the edge of the lawn with a camera pointed at his bedroom window. At least I assume it's Anaxas; I don't think any of the other vultures would have the balls to come this far."

The butler blinked. "…He has a camera pointed at Master Dick's _bedroom_?"

"Yes. Probably hoping to catch me doing something…inappropriate," he grimaced.

"Deplorable blackguard," the Englishman's mouth twisted in disgust. "To sneak onto the property to photograph you would have been bad enough. But to target the space where a child sleeps..."

"Well," Bruce amended, "where he tries to sleep until he moves into my room. Not that that creep needs to know about that. Anyway, we're leading him on right now to keep him in position. I came down to ask you to call the police and let them know to come in quietly. We know he's slippery, he'll run off if he gets a hint of trouble."

"'Leading him on,' sir? Is that wise?"

"Nothing sketchy looking," he assured. "We're just reading in the window instead of with Dick tucked in."

"Ah. I daresay he'll want to be awake to watch the collar, in any case," Alfred opined. "I'll take care of things down here."

"I need a glass of water. It was our excuse for me leaving the room."

"Of course." Fetching a cup and filling it, he handed it over. "Anything else?"

"Just police."

"Consider it done, sir."

When Bruce regained the boy's bedroom, a set of amused blue eyes met him. "He's totally buying it," he was informed.

"You didn't look, did you? You'll give us away," he warned, handing him his water.

"I only looked once, and I pretended like I was trying to see if the aurora had come out," Dick explained. "I tilted my head up, but my eyes were looking right at him. He didn't realize what I was doing, 'cause he's still there."

"…Nice work," the billionaire had to grant. "You should drink some of that, it will look strange otherwise."

"Oh! Right." He obeyed, then set the container aside. "…Can we keep going?"

"Do you like it so far?" He'd been hesitant about reading _Don Quixote_ to a nine-year-old, but the would-be knight's foibles seemed like the sort of thing an intelligent child would enjoy, being just the right mixture of adventurous emotion and fanciful happenings. _And if it's too advanced for him, we can always stop,_ he'd decided as he plucked the book from its shelf downstairs. He needn't have worried; they were barely through the introduction of the self-titled caballero, but the boy didn't hesitate in his answer.

"Yes!" he chirped. "M…mom told me a couple of the stories, like about how he fights windmills thinking they're giants, but we never read the whole thing. I just don't know some of the words," he disclosed, suddenly cautious. "…Can I stop you and ask what they mean?"

"Absolutely," Bruce agreed, claiming a spot on the cushion beside him. "Now…where were we?"

"Right here!" Dick pointed out the spot.

"Okay… '_The first thing he did was to clean up some armor that had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had been for ages lying forgotten in a corner eaten with rust and covered with mildew,'"_ he read, only to be interrupted by a soft little 'huh.' "…What?"

"Well…it's sort of like with the cave, isn't it? Except that you aren't crazy like Don Quixote is. But _your_ great-grandfather left you the cave, and it was probably pretty dirty when you and Alfred fixed it up, right?"

"Keep you face turned forwards when you talk about the cave with him out there," the man instructed. "He doesn't read lips, or he'd have taken off when we were talking about calling the cops, but if he's recording us he could show the footage to someone who does."

"Oh," his eyes widened perceptibly. "I didn't even _think_ about lip-reading."

"It's okay. It's not something I would have expected you to just automatically consider. But keep it in mind."

"I will," he swore. "Anyway, isn't that, like, the first thing _you_ did, was clean up the cave?"

"No. First I spent three years traveling around the world and training my ass off." There was a giggle. "…Don't tell Alfred I said that word in front of you."

"I won't. I'm a good secret-keeper."

"Good. And…yes. I guess in some ways the armor is like the cave."

"Okay," he nodded, pleased that his connection had been approved of. "Let's keep going."

They read for forty minutes before anything of interest happened outside. Dick trembled the entire time, his awareness of the complex hunt in which they were playing bait making his muscles jump with anticipation. When a series of spotlights suddenly flooded the lawn, he nearly leapt from his seat. They both turned quickly to see the paparazzo, drenched from the rain that had been falling almost since they'd first noticed him, sprawled out in the center of the illuminated area. As Bruce had predicted, he'd taken advantage of the darkness to sneak closer to the house, making it roughly halfway to the structure before being pinned by the bright beams of the police. As they watched, the man was cuffed, dragged to his feet, and led out of sight. _…So it __was__ Anaxas,_ the billionaire thought triumphantly. _Good. Let's see just how happy that shutter finger of yours is after it spends a little time behind bars._ "…They're going to want to talk to me," he said aloud.

"Can I come, too?" Dick queried, then yawned. "I want to…see the police."

"Yes, but you _need_ to go to bed."

"I'm not tired, though. Not after all of that eehhhh-" his mouth stretched open involuntarily again. "Excitement," he attempted to cover it up.

"Good try, kiddo," Bruce smiled, ruffling his hair. "But I'm tucking you in."

"Okay," he sighed defeatedly.

"…There," the billionaire said shortly thereafter. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes. But…"

"But what?" he asked. The doorbell could be heard distantly in the entryway, and he knew it was only a matter of time before Alfred came looking for him, but right now all he was interested in was the child who had just helped him get an extremely unpleasant man taken into custody.

"…Are you _ever _going to let me help you? Or Batman?"

He held back a sigh. _I know it's frustrating, Dicky, but it's just too dangerous. I __can't__ risk losing you. Besides…_ He leaned in close and bumped their foreheads together. "You already have, chum." _You have no idea just how much you've helped me already. You really, really don't._

It was better than the resounding 'no' he was half-expecting, but it still wasn't quite the _right_ answer. "…Okay." _That was so much fun, and we didn't even get to do the good parts,_ he pouted silently. _Why can't we do stuff like this together every night? That would be so amazing…I __like__ busting bad guys, and Robin…well, Robin could help Batman do that. Why won't you even give me a chance? I know it's dangerous, but I'd be careful. Besides, I…I'd be with you. You wouldn't let anything really bad happen to me, I know you wouldn't._

"Go to sleep. I'll check in on you before I go to bed, okay? _Don't_ go across the hall unless you know there's no one here but us."

"I won't. I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Alright." With one more swift brush of his hand over the boy's forehead, Bruce rose. "Good night, Dicky."

"Night…"

_No nightmares tonight,_ the billionaire pled silently as he made his way down the stairs. _Just…be so excited about helping catch Anaxas that you only have good dreams. _It wasn't that he didn't want the child crawling into bed beside him – _hell, that helps __me__ sleep better – _but rather that he simply hated the thought of him in pain, physical or emotional. _I wish I could figure out a way to channel all of your bad dreams into my head. I'd get even less sleep than I do now, but at least then __you__ could sleep._

"Master Wayne," Alfred turned to him just as his feet touched marble. "Sergeant Roe would like to speak with you. Are you sure I can't offer you some coffee, Sergeant?" he directed back at the officer hovering near the door.

"No, thanks, this shouldn't take more than a second. Mister Wayne," he nodded as the billionaire approached.

"Sergeant. It was Anaxas, wasn't it? I thought I recognized him."

"Yes, it was. What clued you in to his being here?"

Bruce explained that he and the boy had gone for a walk to look for aurora earlier in the evening, and that while they were out Dick had commented that he thought someone might be in the woods. "We came right back to the house after he said that, just in case it was someone with a more sinister intention than taking pictures," he stressed, seeing an opportunity to highlight his attention to his ward's safety and seizing it. "My butler checked the perimeter cameras when we got back and told him about our suspicions, and he found a tree down over a section of the fence. We thought it might have been natural at the time, especially since it wasn't right next to the road, but I was about to tuck Dick into bed with a story when we saw a red light go off for just a second out in the yard. I've been the aim of paparazzi before now, so I had a pretty good idea as to what that little flash belonged to. That's when we called you."

"Well, that all jives with what we found. His car is parked up on the side of the road past your main gate, about a half mile from the downed tree your butler told us about when he spoke to dispatch. There's got a chainsaw that's still got fresh bits of wood stuck on the blade sitting in the backseat. That tree didn't fall naturally, it was cut down, and from what we can tell he wedged it specifically so it would fall over your fence. I'm guessing he crawled over on top of the tree to be safe – that section's electrified, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Is the fence itself badly damaged, or…?"

"It's down, and pretty messed up besides. We didn't test it, but it may have cut the power to the sections beyond. Anyway, the big question is whether or not you want to press charges."

Bruce peered at the man. "Anaxas has been harassing my family all week, including striking one of my vehicles in an aggressive manner on Monday and then trying to prevent me from accessing another of my cars earlier today. Tonight he cut down one of my trees, trespassed on my property, and took unauthorized photos of me and others in my home. Most importantly," he recalled the urgency that had been in Dick's voice when he'd slid back in against him out by the pond, "he scared my kid. He's having a hard enough time adjusting after everything that's happened recently, and now there's this on top of it. He's probably going to have nightmares tonight as a result."

"…So I take it that's a yes, then?"

"Yes. I want him charged with everything he feasibly _can_ be charged with." He paused, thinking. "I know there was no damage to the fence, but the tree itself would have been on my property before he cut it. We had the barricades put up several hundred yards back from the property line specifically to prevent people walking along the road and utility right-of-ways from seeing them and being tempted. So the tree he cut down was mine. Does that qualify as destruction of property?" He knew it did, but had to ask the question.

"It does. So…destruction of property, criminal trespass…do you know if there were cameras or any witnesses when he did the other things you mentioned, before tonight?"

"There was an entire crowd of other photographers and journalists when he hit my car, and the parking garage at my attorney's office has cameras."

"I'll see about adding harassment and maybe physical intimidation to the list." He snapped his notebook shut. "Okay. Well, I'll contact your office if we need anything else. You might want to see about getting a restraining order against him."

"I will. I don't want him anywhere near us again. One more thing," he added as the officer prepared to leave. "The pictures he took. What happens to them?"

"His camera's been taken as evidence, and any photos would be treated as the same. Anything we should know about?"

"Dick stepped away for a few minutes to use the bathroom in the woods. That was when he determined that someone else was there with us. I don't know how far along he got with his business, if at all – he came back to me pretty quick – but if Anaxas was taking pictures out in the brush…"

"He'll be regretting it. We'll look close. Anything else?" he prodded.

"No," Bruce gave him a steady look, certain the man was thinking that there might be shots of him doing something uncouth with the boy. "Although I imagine he took a fair number of photos of Dick and I sitting in the window and reading."

"…Sounds legitimate enough to me, then. I'm sorry you had to deal with this guy for so long; it's tough to have enough cause to arrest people like him until they do something blatant like this and get caught at it."

"I understand, Sergeant. You have to work within the bounds of law. I can respect that." He offered his hand. "Thank you for resolving this situation for us."

"Just doing my job," the officer shook. "Have a good night."

Left alone in the foyer, the billionaire and the butler exchanged a look. "Well, I daresay that was a bit more excitement than we'd bargained for this evening," Alfred commented.

"Yeah. We'll have to go check out the fence in the morning."

"I'll take care of it, sir. You have the tuxedo appointment for Master Dick to take care of, and birthday shopping as well."

"I'm surprised you don't want to come along for that, to be honest."

"It isn't that I wouldn't _like_ to. I simply think it's better that the pair of you spending the day bonding amongst yourselves. Remember, I had him all to myself for two days this week, and will have plenty of opportunities to spend time with him in the coming weeks while you are at work." He hesitated. "On that note, you didn't say how things went at the attorneys' today."

"…It's a win/lose situation. They're certain that I won't be able to adopt him, at least not any time in the foreseeable future, but they _do_ think they can get me permanent guardianship."

"Ms. Randall is part of the problem, I imagine?"

"A huge part, from what I gathered. But I'm going to fight her every step of the way, Alfred."

The Englishman nodded in satisfaction. "Very good. And permanent guardianship isn't a terrible end to this, you know; it's what I had for you, and it _will _make it more difficult for CPS to simply swoop in and take him."

"I know that. Permanent guardianship is good, but…" _But it doesn't mean the same thing._

The silence grew awkward between them as Bruce failed to finish his thought. Finally Alfred cleared his throat and changed the subject. "Are you going out after all, since the scoundrel's been caught?"

"…No. I have some research I want to do downstairs. Research I would rather that Dick _didn't_ see," he stressed. "If he comes looking for me, if he has a nightmare or something, just put him in my room."

"He knows how to work the clock now," he reminded the younger man. "He may just go straight down after you."

"I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."

"Not at all. Would you like some refreshment for while you work?"

"No," he shook his head. "I don't think this will take too long." He hadn't been lying when he told the policeman that Dick was likely to have nightmares now that Anaxas had broken through the manor's basic defenses; no matter how much he hoped the opposite would be true, the fragile image of safety that had begun to build up around the house in the boy's mind had likely been shattered by the paparazzo. _That bastard,_ Bruce seethed as he moved down the hall. _I hope they give you jail time; I'm going to be pissed if they reduce it to probation and let you off the hook with that. Still…maybe this will serve as a warning to the others. I think we're going to have to have the trees cleared back from the perimeter so that this can't happen again, though. If this hits the news, especially, it's all but asking for someone else to try the same thing. And next time it might be someone looking for more than just pictures._

Flipping on one of the cave computers, he tried to turn his thoughts to more pleasant topics. _That's done for now, though; at least I can be fairly certain that he won't be bothering us tomorrow. So…John and Mary Grayson._ The corner of his lip turned up. _Let's see how you got so damned clever, kiddo._


	48. Chapter 48

The CPS file, while somewhat sparse, provided him with one essential clue; Mary Grayson's maiden name. _Not that 'Mary Lloyd' is going to be all that much easier to find information on,_ he thought with a sigh. _Unless…Dick said that they'd toured in Europe. In that case, they must have had passports to get back into the US, and if they had passports then they had to have social security numbers. If nothing else, that will give me enough to get started._

It took a little time to break into the State Department's passport information databases, but once he was in it was nothing to narrow down his possibilities to one of three women, all deceased, who seemed to have been born in the right range of years. Just as he was about to begin the laborious task of sorting one out from the other, Alfred appeared. "…You may find these useful, sir," he offered, handing over two documents.

"Death certificates? When did we get these?" Bruce frowned down at them.

"They were faxed from the cemetery earlier this evening, after I spoke with them about having the young master's parents moved. I imagined they might contain information that didn't make it into the CPS file and which you would otherwise have to spend time looking up."

"I didn't think there would be this much data on them, or I would have just started searching for these." _Haly knew more than I'd thought he did…here she is._ Matching up a birthdate with the one on the sheet in his hand, he clicked the middle of the three names on the screen. "…This helps."

"Excellent, Master Wayne. I hoped it would." With a nod, the butler retreated back up the stairs.

_Okay, Mary Janine Lloyd…born in Gallia County, Ohio…_ He paused. _Huh. That's not too far south of Flash's town. Kind of an odd coincidence. Parents, Harvey and Jillian Lloyd…_ He went on, reading through the basics and absorbing all of it. Once he knew where she'd grown up, it was nothing to pull her old school records, newspaper clippings, everything with her name attached to it.

The Lloyds, he determined, were a solidly lower-middle-class family with, at the beginning at least, a good chance at upward mobility. Harvey worked for the local electric company; Jillian was employed part-time at the local supermarket. As he'd suspected, Mary herself was no slouch. Good grades all through school culminated in her graduating a year early with an honors diploma; she served in student government, and was a cheerleader for her final two years of public education. _That would partially explain why she was able to transition into trapeze work the way she did,_ the billionaire mused. _And I can see where she passed a certain…peppiness…on to Dick._ After that she was off to college at the state capital, where she no longer carried pom-poms but did take a rigorous slew of courses.

It was in the spring of her sophomore year at university that Mary Lloyd met John Grayson. That, at least, was what Bruce deduced from the fact that there were brief articles about Haly's Circus coming to town in the local papers roughly a week before the Lloyds reported their daughter missing. Evidently she called home in short order, since the only news about her after the initial fervor in her hometown was a brief report that she had, quite literally, run away with the circus. _But what happened to her parents?_ he wondered. _Everything I've heard is that Dick has no living blood relations, but his maternal grandparents wouldn't be that old, and don't seem to have lived dangerous or rough lives…oh._

There it was, some eighteen months after their only child changed the course of her life completely to become the wife and performance partner of a man she'd known only a few days; a house fire, started ironically enough by faulty wires. Both dead, and their pregnant offspring a spectacle a week later when she swept back through town to clean up what she could of her parents' affairs. She didn't stay long, and that seemed to be the last Gallia County saw of the scholarship girl turned traveling woman.

He didn't think it likely that he would find much more on her beyond reviews of her and her husband's act, and he didn't need to see those to know that she'd adapted quickly and well to her chosen life. _It's no wonder Dick is the way he is,_ he mused, sitting back for a moment before tackling John. _He seems to be a great deal like her in essentials, and she obviously took care to pass on the knowledge and skills she gained from her formal education. If she was responsible for cultivating his mind, then it stands to reason that his father took the lead in his physical training. He certainly __looked__ far more…circus…than Mary did, based on what little I saw of them._

Tracking down a man who had been traveling since the day he was born was no easy feat even for Batman, and much of what he _did_ find was speculation not on John himself but on the line from which he came. Three hours passed as he gleaned tidbits from two hundred sites, a few legitimate and wholly believable, the rest belonging to that vaguely esoteric ether that lingers around those who live in the eddies of society. The Grayson family, he discovered, had been of some importance for a time after they arrived in North America with one of the several waves of Romanichal migrations in the last two hundred years. When the topic turned to acrobatics, and especially to aerial feats, the family name came up over and over again. One rumor stated that it was a Grayson who had taught Harry Houdini the contortions he used for his greatest escapes; another claimed that Grayson fliers were the stars of P.T. Barnum's earliest shows.

Bruce's naturally skeptical mind wanted to discredit both ideas, and several of the others he read, as too fantastical, but something held him back. The way the boy moved, his ingrained charm, and above all that damned quadruple somersault that he could _not_ get out of his head all whispered that it was entirely feasible; as likely, at least, as his own forebears' flow of adventures, which he knew to be true to some extent. _Where did they all __go__, though?_ he worried the question with an even greater urgency than he'd felt for the vanished Lloyds. _Mary was an only child…was John, too? And even then, he must have had aunts, uncles, cousins…why does this bother me so much? _Despite what Randall had said about there being a lengthy search that had to take place, he doubted that there would be one mounted at all. _It shouldn't matter; even if he has blood kin, he clearly doesn't know them. They'd be totally unknown to him if they showed up on the doorstep._

His breath caught. _…That's the danger. If the family name is known, and there __are__ distant relations out there…suppose someone's interested? Suppose they see a news article, a TV clip, anything. If there was somebody who came here, tomorrow, next week, next year, and claimed to be his next-of-kin…god, what if he wanted to go with them? Even not knowing them, if they…if they could take him back to the circus, back to the life he had, to some extent, wouldn't he go? I know he still feels out of place here, and I know it will take time for that to go away, but…what if not enough time passes, and someone steals him from me by right of blood?_

It was a cruel, nasty thought that sunk steely talons into his stomach until he had to push away from the computer. Unsettled and mildly nauseous, he stood and made his way upstairs. _No one is taking him. He belongs here. With…with me._

_You're not showing it very well._

_Says the person who tried to keep me from him until a couple of days ago,_ he snapped back.

_I've already admitted that I was…not as well informed as I would have liked,_ Batman conceded gratingly. _Now it's your turn to do the same._

_Yeah, let me show how much he belongs with me by putting him into situations where he's likely to be hurt or killed. That makes perfect sense._

_He would be trained before he went out, you know that. Besides…if you let Robin become more than a voice on the radio, don't you think he'll have ample reason to want to stay if someone __does__ come to claim him?_ There was much, much more to it than that, but the vigilante saw an opportunity to strike and took it. He'd more or less recovered from the defeat the billionaire had dealt him in regards to the boy, and was now determined to pull out all of the stops when it came to securing the child a position at his side. It was only the second time in his life that he had given in to the clichéd idea of joining those that one couldn't beat, but the youth had proved to be such a worthy adversary that he was anxious to see how he might be as an ally.

Bruce hesitated just as he passed into the bedroom beyond his own and came in sight of the lump under the covers. His fear of losing the person it marked, of watching this moment and the ten thousand like it that might come in the future vanish into nothingness, tore into itself; he was, hypothetically speaking, damned no matter which way he went. _If I let Robin become more than an armchair mask, I risk losing him. If I don't, I risk losing him still. The difference, though,_ he decided after a moment's wavering, _is that in the second scenario he would still be alive somewhere in the world. And that's what matters; his survival._

_This from the man who just a few days ago decided that survival wasn't enough. You wanted to __live__; why doesn't he deserve the same consideration?_

_He can live without being like…like me. He __will__ live without being like me. And that's final._

"Bruce?"

The quiet whisper derailed his thoughts, and he snapped back into himself. "Hey, kiddo," he moved closer inside, glancing towards the window to ensure that it was covered. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," he shook his head, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with one hand. "I…I had a nightmare."

"Why didn't you go across the hall?"

"You said not to stay there unless I knew that the police were gone. I checked your room and you weren't there, and I remembered you saying that you'd look in before you went to bed, so…I just decided to wait in here." A soulful gaze peered up at him as he drew to a halt beside the mattress. "…Can I come sleep in your room now? Please?"

"…Yeah, chum. Come on, it's late. We have to get up in a few hours." The words had barely finished leaving his mouth before Dick was on his feet.

"Ready."

"Do you want Elinor?" the billionaire nodded at the elephant that had been left beside the pillow.

"Um…she can guard the bed for me while I'm gone."

It was a little surprising – the boy had been clinging to the stuffed creature every night since his arrival – but so long as indecision was roiling in his midsection again Bruce didn't have the energy to ask for details about the shift. "Okay," he acceded, then held out his hand.

He quickly learned the reason that the comfort toy had been left behind despite not having inquired. As soon as they were cocooned in the master suite, two thin arms, one of which would normally have been occupied with the elephant, wrapped around his neck. It was an exceedingly uncomfortable position for the exhausted and heartsick man, but he could imagine the sort of dream that might have driven the child to such an intensely needy reaction. "…That bad, huh?" he asked quietly, running his hand up and down his spine slowly.

"It was awful."

"Was it a new one, or…?" _Or your parents,_ he didn't finish.

"It wasn't them, it was…something else." _Almost as bad,_ he kept to himself.

"Tell me about it."

"It…they tried to take me away. I mean…no…they _did_ take me away. My social worker came with the police, and they made me go with her even though I kept saying I didn't want to. And I was crying, and…and you were, too, and…Alfred looked like he was going to hit someone, which was kind of weird but scary at the same time, even though I knew it wasn't _me_ he wanted to hit…and I knew that they were never, ever going to let me see you again. One of the cops seemed kind of sorry for me, and he said that maybe when I was all grown up I could come back, but…for some reason I had this feeling that you weren't going to be there then. Like…like something was going to happen to you because they took me away. But she said I was talking nonsense, and that where I was going they'd 'knock all that fantasizing' out of me…it was really scary, Bruce," he choked. "It was so scary, because…because it could happen, couldn't it? They…they could take me away from you."

"…I'm not going to let that happen," he swore, his eyes as damp as his neck from the boy's tale.

"But…the lawyers today, they said all you can maybe get is guardianship, right?"

"_Permanent_ guardianship. That's pretty powerful."

"Yeah, but…it doesn't mean the same."

The words were so close to his own from earlier that he flinched. "…I know, chum," he stroked his hair, then cradled the back of his head. "I know. But it's the best I can do right now."

"But it might not be enough."

"It will be."

"What if it isn't, though?"

"Dick," he shifted, disturbed by the intensity of his questioning. "…There are a lot of things in the world that not even all of my money can make right. When I run into those things, do you know what I do?"

"…What?" he whispered.

"I rely on a different sort of persuasion."

"…Batman's persuasion?"

"Yes."

"But…you can't beat up my social worker."

_Well…_ "No," he conceded. "I wouldn't do that. But that doesn't mean I can't scare the shit out of her."

"…Are you supposed to use that-"

"No. Don't repeat it. My point stands, though. They might not let me adopt you, Dick, but they're _not_ taking you away from me. Whatever I have to do, that's not happening. Okay?"

"…Okay." _I don't understand how you're going to fight them, but…I trust you. If anyone can win, you can. _

"Feel better now?"

"A little," he shrugged, not wanting to exaggerate the truth. They were silent for a while. "…Bruce?"

"Huh?!" he started back awake. "What is it?"

"…Did you go out, after all?"

"No," he half-groaned. "I didn't. Why?"

"…When are you going back to Newtown?" _When will I know if Zucco is the one who killed them?_ hung unasked between them.

He could hardly blame him for being eager. "Maybe tonight, kiddo. We'll see how things go. But you know I'll tell you just as soon as I know something for sure."

"I know. I just…" _I just want to know __now__. And I want to help. I want to see him be arrested the way I got to see Anaxas be taken away tonight. I want us to do that again, Bruce, and I want to do it to __him__. If he's the right guy,_ he amended. Knowing that saying all of that would likely only upset the man – hadn't he _just_ promised a few hours before that he understood that Robin wasn't to leave the cave? – he bit it back. "I just don't want him to do that to anyone else." It wasn't a lie, but it was far from the entire truth.

"I'll get him, Dicky. I promise, if he's the one who did it…I'll get him."

"…Thank you."

_Don't thank me until I actually have him in cuffs,_ the billionaire couldn't bring himself to say despite being fully cognizant of the fact that no matter how good the lead he had on Zucco looked it didn't mean that he was the right guy beyond any shadow of a doubt. It wasn't worth giving the child curled against him anything else to dwell on, though, so he kept his reply as simple as possible. "…You're welcome. And Dick?"

"Uh-huh?" he mumbled.

"_No one_ is taking you away," he breathed against his scalp, eyes already closing again. _Not even me,_ his final thought of the evening echoed into sleep.

"…I'm glad, Bruce." He sighed and snuggled in closer. _So glad._

**Author's Note: I just wanted to take a minute to thank all of you who have been reading and to doubly thank those of you who have reviewed, especially the guest reviewers who I'm not able to thank personally through private messaging. Stay tuned, Bruce and Dick are in for a flufftastic Saturday morning. Happy reading!**


	49. Chapter 49

Dick awoke a few short hours later to an empty bed. _…Where did he go?_ his eyes narrowed as he sat up. _The bathroom door's open. I guess he went downstairs, but…_ But that meant that he had to traverse the foyer by himself, and that was far from the first thing he wanted to do so early in the day. For all that his fear of the broad, empty space had waned somewhat over the past two days, he was still far less comfortable there than in the rooms beyond. No matter how frequently they passed in and out of the house, the entryway never felt like a spot where people had ever enjoyed themselves.

Nevertheless, he wanted to see Bruce more than he wanted to avoid the vestibule. That being the case, he extracted himself from the bed and shuffled down the corridor, arms crossed tightly over his stomach. Keeping his head bowed in a futile attempt to ignore the vastness of the grand entrance hall, he traversed the stairs, his pace quickening the closer he got to the featureless plain of marble at the bottom. Reaching it, he broke into a half-run and headed for the opposite side. _Almost there, almost there, just…whoa!_

He barely glanced up in time to see the billionaire step out of the passage that was his destination. His attempt to stop, while whole-hearted, was insufficient on the well-polished floor, and he slid into the man with a _thump_. Heavy hands gripped his shoulders, at first to keep him from falling in the aftermath of the collision and then simply because their owner wanted physical contact as he crouched before him. "…Bruce," the boy smiled. "I found you."

"I was just coming to get you. Alfred left us breakfast."

"…'Left us'?"

"He went to pick out a few tuxedos for you to try on and to check the fence after last night."

"Oh," he nodded. "So…breakfast?"

"In a second, yes. But first…why do you always seem like you want to run across the foyer?" His fear that someone might come to claim the boy was still echoing in his heart, right alongside his determination not to throw the child deliberately into the path of danger. The best way he could think of to make him want to stay even if he were to be given another opportunity at his old life – other than Batman's suggestion, which a night's sleep had forced him to recognize as a good idea, if only in theory – was to ensure that he became fully comfortable with the house as soon as possible. The entrance that seemed to terrify him so much seemed like as good a place to start as any.

"I…it's just really big," he answered lamely, looking away. "That's all."

"…Is that _really_ all?" the man asked, fingers tightening slightly. _There has to be more to it than that. _

"It looks like a big, creepy mouth in here," he burst out suddenly before slapping a hand over his lips. "Oh, gosh, I didn't mean to say that out loud. Did…did I just insult your house?"

Bruce was laughing as he shook his head. "No, chum, you didn't insult the house. You just…pointed out something that I'd forgotten about."

"…Huh?"

"I used to feel the same way," he recovered. "It was a long time ago, of course, but…the chandelier's the teeth, right?" 

Dick fidgeted, then nodded hesitantly.

"Yeah. I thought so. And the stairs are the tongue, and-"

"Stop," he whispered desperately. "Please?"

"…Sorry, kiddo," the billionaire apologized sincerely, wincing as he realized that he'd scared him. _Understandable; having an adult validate what he's probably been trying to convince himself isn't a reasonable fear can't be helping._ "I didn't mean to make it worse. But," he added, "I know how to make it better, too."

"Y-you do? How?"

"The same way Alfred made it better for me," he shared quietly. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone that he _ever_ allowed this, but…when I was afraid of the foyer like you are now, he had a special trick that made it much less frightening."

"What was it?" the boy queried, eyes beginning to shine with interest.

Bruce glanced down and was pleased to see that the child had worn socks to bed. "You must be good at keeping your balance, right?" _How could you not be?_

"Yes."

"Okay. It's easy; just run out into the middle of the room, and then slide along on your socks. Start slow until you get the hang of it," he cautioned, envisioning a fall at high speed onto the unforgiving stone and shuddering.

"You…you want me to run inside the house, and then…just _slide_?" Dick gaped.

"Mm-hmm," a tiny grin tugged at his lips. "That's _exactly _what I want you to do."

_That __does__ sound like fun, but…_ He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder. Running into the center the way he'd been instructed to would put him right under the hundreds of glittering crystals that seemed ready to chomp down on anyone who dared pass beneath them, and as much as he wanted to please the man whose palms were still bleeding warmth into the base of his neck he wanted proof that it wasn't dangerous first. "Could…could you show me how?" he asked, gulping.

…_You know how, kiddo. I know you do. _"Dick, it's not going to hurt you. I promise." It was obvious that he wanted to believe him, but there was still a ghost of uncertainty behind his gaze. _Well, I can't really blame him. I swore I wanted him, too, and then I ignored him only to reverse again. My track record for keeping promises is terrible right now; I wouldn't trust me, either. _"…If I do it, will it help you trust me again?"

"I…I…yes," he blushed slightly, embarrassed to admit that his confidence in the man's word had slackened somewhat since the events of a few days before.

"Then that's reason enough for me." Standing, he kicked off the house slippers he'd been padding around in since he'd left the child fast asleep in his bed. Then he sent him a secretive look, pressed a finger to his lips, and took several fast steps. Halfway across the room he went into a slide, arms carefully extended to keep his balance. When he'd come to a halt, he turned back and put on an expectant expression. "…Well?"

The chandelier hadn't come crashing down to chew up the figure that had passed beneath it, much to Dick's relief. More importantly, he now had a target to aim for. He bit his lip for a second, then set his jaw, backed up a bit, and pelted towards the waiting man. As he went into his own glide, taking to the motion with a natural grace, a little giggle slipped through his lips. A second later he was lifted off the ground and spun around, and his laughter rose in volume. "…That's really fun," he confessed when he was set back down.

"You want to do it some more?" the billionaire asked, a glint of devilry in his eyes.

"Um…yeah," the boy nodded back eagerly. "I know Alfred will be super mad if he catches us, but…can we?"

"I don't see Alfred anywhere, do you?"

"No."

"Then I'd say go for it."

"…Will you do it with me?" he asked, offering his hand. "Together?"

The request drew a rare broad smile, and Bruce grasped the narrow fingers that had been extended to him. "Let's do this."

There was no telling how long they half-skated back and forth across the smooth floor, grinning at one another like fools and occasionally bursting into outright laughter when one had to save the other from drifting into a wall or taking a spill. Improvising tricks that they could only half-finish due to friction, they would likely have stayed entertained all day had a discreetly cleared throat not interrupted them.

"Oh, _shit_," Bruce exclaimed, straightening mid-slide and nearly crashing as a result.

"He means 'hi, Alfred,'" Dick covered for his guardian as he, too, came to a stop.

"…I'm certain he does, young sir. Thank you for the translation," the butler said drily, observing them from the doorway. "If I may inquire as to the purpose of this…activity?" 

"Uh…"

"Bruce was helping me not be afraid of the foyer anymore," the boy piped up. "He thought if I had a little fun in here it wouldn't be so scary."

"I see." He raised an eyebrow, but a series of obviously restrained twitches about the corners of his mouth gave away his amusement. "And have either of you breakfasted?"

"We, uh…we got distracted," the billionaire explained.

"…Well, I suppose I'd best get to work reheating it for you, then, or else you won't have time to eat before you have to depart for your tuxedo fitting." With that, he crossed the room briskly, only pausing when he reached the hallway. He turned back to find both of his charges staring after him with confused looks. "…Carry on," he ordered with a wave of his hand, then continued on his way. A delighted giggle followed him into the kitchen, drawing a chuckle from his own throat as the door swung shut. _It isn't the most civilized activity in the world, but if sliding across the vestibule in their socks is the worst trouble they get into I've really no cause for complaint. Besides…it __did__ rather look like fun. _He frowned. _For children,_ he added hastily. _Fun for children. And Master Wayne is exempt in this instance due to the fact that he was working to make the young sir more comfortable in the house and because of his own curtailed youth. Otherwise, of course, it is __not__ a suitable undertaking for adults._ Nevertheless, as he tucked two plates into the microwave he couldn't help but wonder what it was like to slip along the floor as the younger members of the household had been.

_…I can't believe we didn't get chewed out. Hell, I don't even think he's going to lecture me later,_ Bruce thought as the kitchen door closed. A second later Dick slid into him, a happy smile plastered over his entire face. "…You get away with a _lot_, you know that?" he commented down at him.

"I guess. But…that means that _you_ get away with a lot, too," the child replied slyly. "I know you had fun just now. I could hear you trying not to laugh."

"You could _not_," the billionaire challenged, fighting a smirk.

"Could too," he nodded.

"That's slander."

"Nuh-uh. Slander's when you say something bad that isn't true. What _I_ said was true, and there's nothing wrong with laughing."

"…Did laughing make the entryway a little less scary?"

"Yes." He gazed around. "…It just feels like a room now. Maybe…maybe even a happy room."

"Good," Bruce said firmly, ghosting his hand over dark hair. _A little victory, then. I'll take every one I can get. _"…Come on, let's eat so we can get ready to go."

"Tuxedos?" he wrinkled his nose.

"Tuxedos," the man nodded. "But then toys."

"I _have_ toys, though."

"Mm. You need more. Ask me."

"Well _obviously_ I know what _your_ answer would be…"

"Exactly. So there's no point in asking." When the boy gave him an unimpressed look, he sighed. "Just let me do this, okay?"

"It's _weird_ for me, Bruce. I'm not used to have loads of money just _spent_ on me."

"I know, but…" _But it makes me feel so much better. _"…Let's talk about it later. Alfred's waiting."

An hour and a half later found them standing in a private fitting room in what Dick had instantly gathered was an _extremely_ expensive clothing store. Four suits were laid out before them, each looking just as uncomfortable as the others. "…Do you have a preference?" the billionaire asked him.

"Um…" _Not to wear one,_ balanced at the edge of his lips. _No, I can't say that. If I don't do this then I don't get to come up with a costume for Robin. That was the deal. _"…I don't know. They're all okay, I guess. What do you think?"

Had the butler not picked out all four, the businessman would have been completely terrified that he would make a bad fashion choice for the child's society debut. As it was, however, he could be confident that any one of the ensembles he'd been presented with would be suitable. With the Englishman's early morning scouting putting his mind at ease, he chose based on the whim that struck as the youth tilted his face upward, his gaze mildly panicked but determined. "Put on the one with the blue vest and tie," he decided.

For the briefest of moments after Dick turned around fully dressed, Bruce allowed himself to pretend that he, not Alfred, was the one with fashion sense. The accent color made the boy's eyes stand out even more than usual, and the crisp black of the suit jacket deepened a faint duskiness in his complexion that the billionaire hadn't noticed before. He raised a hand to his mouth and tried to look pensive as he covered his delighted grin. _You're going to slay them tonight. __Let__ the paparazzi in; I want the whole world to see this._

"…What?" the miniature gentleman inquired warily, one hand rising as if to tug at his tie before falling back to his side with its mission incomplete. Every piece he'd tugged on had made him feel further removed from himself, as if the fine fabrics were chasing off the real Dick Grayson and replacing him with something else. "Does it look bad?" _I don't belong in fancy clothes,_ he lamented. _I don't know how to act in this. Crud. This was a bad idea… _

"It doesn't look bad," the man soothed immediately. _It looks fucking adorable, is what it looks like. I wonder if you'd blush if I told you that…no, I'll let everyone at the dinner tonight say it for me. _

"It looks _fabulous_," the waiting tailor opined. "It needs taken in in about eight spots, but other than that…"

"It…I mean…it doesn't look out of place? On…on me?" _It should, because this…this feels wrong. _

Bruce, reading the look Dick was struggling not to let show, asked the other man to give them a minute. Closing the distance between himself and his ward, he knelt. "It's perfect," he said quietly, straightening the cloth that encircled his throat.

"…I feel like a fraud."

"You are _not_ a fraud." _Christ, you're nine years old. Most kids your age don't even know what that word __means__; how could you possibly be one? _"You look like exactly what you are, Dick."

"There's no way I look like a circus kid in this stuff. I look…I look like the kind of people dad always used to make fun of," he closed his eyes miserably. "I look like the people he always said don't know what really matters in life. But…that's not what I want to be, Bruce. Is that what I already am? A…a fake?" _I don't get it, though. It can't just be money that makes people fake, because __you__ aren't like that. _He wiped his suddenly-sweaty palms against his pants, his trapeze callouses catching slightly on the high-end weave. "I feel like I'm wearing a lie."

_Ooh, boy._ "…Sometimes," he started carefully, "you have to be a bit of a fake in order to protect what really matters. Sometimes you have to wear a lie to keep the truth from coming out."

His head snapped up at that. "You mean…?" he trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the hope of mutual understanding.

"Yes," he nodded, understanding what he was referring to. "Tonight, you're going to go to that dinner, in this suit, and you're going to do a bit of acting, Dicky. Just like I am. You're going to pretend to be pleased to meet a lot of people who will bore the hell out of you, and ninety nine percent of them are going to make some blithe comment about how well you clean up or ask you if you're grateful I took you in. I want you to do two things when that happens," he told him gravely.

"…What?"

"First, I want you to smile and give a polite, boilerplate response. While you're doing that, though, I want you to ignore what they're saying. Because they'll be wrong, chum. So very wrong. This suit doesn't make you look like a fraud, although you'll probably overhear some of them saying _that_, too. It makes you look like an intelligent, kind, eager person," he cupped his jaw. "Which is _exactly_ what you are, even if they're all too stupid and self-absorbed to see it."

"…Is that how _you_ see me, Bruce? I mean…honest and really?"

"_Yes_."

Lower lip trembling, Dick threw himself forward and wrapped his arms around the billionaire's neck. "Then I don't care what they think," he said in a tiny, determined voice.

"That's my boy," he murmured as he squeezed him. "And this won't be such a bad event to start out at; there's a little bit of social time, but a lot of the evening gets taken up with speeches and presentation of checks. I _might_ drag you on stage with me at some point," he warned, "but we'll keep it short. Just think of it as another performance," he whispered. "Because that's all that these nights are; they're just an act for the cameras."

"…I know how to put on a show," came back in an equally low tone. "If that's what I have to do…I'm good at that."

"Show me tonight, then."

"I will." _I'm going to make it my best performance yet, Bruce,_ he swore silently as they broke apart. _Even if I __do__ have to do it in this stupid tuxedo._


	50. Chapter 50

"I don't need any of this stuff," the boy commented an hour later as they stood in one of the biggest toy and game retailers in Gotham.

"This isn't about _need_, kiddo. It's about _want_. And don't tell me you don't want some of the things you're seeing, because I know better." _…Hell, __I__ want to play with some of it, and I'm way over the intended age range. _"We can get you anything. Everything." _Whatever would make you stay if someone comes looking._

"I…I know." _That's the problem,_ he didn't add.

Bruce sighed. "How about this," he suggested when the child at his side didn't make a move towards any of the waiting items. "What if we start out by buying something that we can use together? It wouldn't have to be kept in your bedroom, and it would technically be for both of us."

"…What is it?"

"I thought we'd get some video games." He'd planned on saving that particular surprise for the end of the shopping trip, but if making a shared purchase right off the bat would help him loosen up, then so be it. "Let's head upstairs to where they keep all the electronics, and we'll get a console and pick out a few games to start with. Then maybe we can come back downstairs and try this level again. Okay?"

"Video games?" He'd seen displays for such things before in stores, but he'd never actually picked up a controller. "…Do you _really_ want one so you can play, too, or are you just saying that so I go along with it? Not to be rude or anything," he tacked on quickly.

"I have to admit, it's been a long time since I played anything resembling a video game. But…some of the ones they advertise on television look pretty interesting. And I _do_ think we should play them together. Do you think you'd enjoy that?"

"I think it would depend on the game."

"Well, we're not finding out what kinds there are by standing around down here, are we?"

Dick smiled at his verbal prodding and shook his head. "No."

The billionaire had read the specs on the major available systems, but rather than choosing one based on the numbers he determined that it would be better to let the games decide. Now, standing in front of a huge wall of selections, he began to question his logic. "Okay. Let's…see what we like, I suppose."

"Which kind are we getting?" the boy asked, sorting out from the way everything was grouped that certain games belonged to the same family.

"Well…I had thought we could pick out games, and then whichever one you liked the most titles from would be the one we'd start with, but…" He trailed off.

"We'll be here all day if we do that."

_…Yeah, I'm starting to gather that fact._ "I did a fair bit of research on this before we came. There are three main console types, and each one has pros and cons, it seems. Without trying all three of them, we're really not going to know which one we would like best."

"So…what are you saying?" he gave him a cautious look.

"Hi, can I help you with…uh…hi," the sales associate who had come up behind them paled, recognizing Bruce as he turned. "Help…can…you?"

The billionaire gave the teen a look that only just evinced the weariness he felt with causing incoherency in strangers. "Yes. You can." We waved his arm at the wall. "We need one of each of the main systems, and at least a few games for each one." _If we're going to do this, we might as well do it right,_ he concluded.

"Wait," the young man in a too-big uniform shirt shook himself, "you want…you want_ three_ systems? Like, today? N-now?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Dick, too, was gaping at him, no doubt thinking of the cost and simply so overwhelmed that he couldn't manage the words to object.

"N-no, we just…people just don't normally buy them quite like that. But," he added swiftly, "no problem. I'll just, uh…get those bagged up for you. You're going to need different cords and stuff, too…are you hooking them all up to the same TV?"

"Yes."

"Is it HD?"

"Is there another option?"

"Heh," he laughed nervously. "Not really these days, no. I'll…work on that while you pick out your games. Is that…is that okay?"

"…Is that okay, chum?"

Dick resigned himself to the fact that his guardian was obsessed with spending money today. _So long as he plays with them too, though, it isn't __so__ bad,_ he told himself. Now, looking warily back at the boxes stretching for dozens of feet in either direction, he gulped. "I don't know where to start," he confessed. "Do you play video games…Charlie?" he read his nametag. "Maybe you could make some suggestions to help us?"

"Ah…sure. I mean, that's pretty much what I do, is play games and work here, so…okay," he nodded, getting into the spirit now that his attention was focused on the boy rather than the billionaire. "So, what kind of games do you like? Are you into, like, RPGs, or FPS, or are you more interested in simulation, strategy, that kind of thing?"

"What…what were the first two?"

"…_Oh_," his eyes widened as he realized just how new his customers were to the world he inhabited in his off-hours. "Okay. Let's back this up. RPGs, those are role-playing games. You get to run around as a specific character in the game, usually with special talents or weapons that only your type of player gets. FPS, that's a first-person shooter. It's like you're there, seeing whatever you're doing through your character's eyes. There's tons more types out there, too, but…well, maybe it's more important to know _how_ you're looking to play. Do you guys want games you can use, like, _together_, or more alone, or both? Is there a, uh, rating limit you want to stay under?" he directed towards Bruce.

Having checked that out, too, the man was able to give a fairly intelligent answer. "Don't leave something good out just because it's got a mature rating." _After all, what's he going to see in a video game worse than watching his own parents die?_ he mused darkly. _And if something __does__ seem a little too extreme for him, that doesn't mean that I might not be interested in playing it. _"And we'd prefer games with multi-player options, but a few without are fine."

"Okay, let's see here…how many did you want to get for each system?"

"…Ten or so," Bruce pulled a number out of the air. "Is that not enough to get a good sampling?" he asked when the salesman stared at him, open-mouthed.

"It is, but…you know some of these games are fifty or sixty bucks a pop, right?"

The billionaire looked at him crossways. "I don't think that will be a problem. Do you?"

"No!" he held up his hands. "Just…letting you know, that's all. You really want _ten_ of each?"

"I really do." He reached down to squeeze Dick's shoulder. "Help him pick them out. If it doesn't look interesting to you, don't get it. Okay?"

"…Bruce," he started helplessly. _This is ridiculous. How are we ever going to have time to play all of these? Unless…well, I know he actually __does__ want to play them with me, he wouldn't have lied about that, but maybe he's getting so many because it's part of the act. A rich guy wouldn't walk into a store to buy video games and only get one or two, right? So maybe we __have__ to get a bunch, or it would look weird to people._

"Go on," he urged gently. "Anything you want. And if you see more than ten that you like, get them all."

Gulping, the boy turned to the deliriously grinning associate. "…Let's get started, I guess," he said good-naturedly.

Once Dick got over the sticker shock – hearing the price had been one thing, but actually seeing numbers behind a dollar sign made him more hesitant than ever despite his certainty that the size of their purchase was part facade – it went surprisingly quickly. Three stacks grew on the floor, fighting and racing titles falling in alongside those that focused on tactics and teamwork. The child showed little interest in games involving guns, much to Bruce's unspoken relief, choosing only a couple that relied on projectile weapons. Finally he fell back, exhausted by the panoply of options he'd been presented with. "…I think we have plenty," he expressed.

"Wait! There's one more." Searching the racks, the teen snatched out a final case. "You _have_ to have this," he offered it to the youth.

"…'_Beautiful Katamari Damacy,'"_ Dick sounded out the last two words slowly.

"Da-ma-cy," Bruce corrected him. "It's Japanese. Ma-cy, not May-cy." He frowned, trying to decipher the colorful image on the cover. "What's it about?"

"You roll everything into a giant ball of other stuff," the associate said solemnly.

"…What?" _Is he playing with us because we're obviously new to all of this?_ he wondered, his eyes narrowing.

"No, really. You roll up bigger and bigger things in each level. You can't just roll up everything right from the start, though; you have to wait until your katamari gets big enough. You have time limits, and…trust me, it's way more fun than it probably sounds like."

The billionaire looked down to where the boy was studying the box. "Do you want that one, too?"

"Um…it actually _does_ look pretty fun, so…could I?" he asked hopefully.

"You bet. All right," he nodded to their helper. "Let's get it all bagged up and paid for."

It took another twenty minutes for all of the various cords and boxes to be scanned, along with a few extra accessories that the teen suggested. Just as Bruce was handing over his credit card, a supervisor approached. "Marcus," he started to address him by his last name, then saw who was standing on the other side of the counter. His eyes fell to the computer screen, where the final total had just popped up, and his lips parted in amazement. "…Never mind. You're busy," he voiced, then turned away and practically sprinted for a door labeled 'employees only.'

"…Do you get commission on all of this?" Bruce asked as he imprinted his signature on the receipt.

"No. But I _think_ you just kept me from getting yelled at for something I probably didn't even do, so…that's all the tip I need," he joked. "I'll get one of the stock guys to help you carry all of this out. I'd do it myself, but they get ticked when the floor staff leaves their designated area," he rolled his eyes.

"Good."

"Thank you!" Dick chirped as the teen left them at the register. "…Maybe we should ask him to come over and set it all up. There are a _lot_ of wires in that bag."

"We'll figure it out," the man assured him.

_…Oh. Duh. Who do I think I'm talking to?_ Having seen some of the things that the person beside him had had a hand in designing down in the Batcave, he felt that he should have known hooking up a few video game systems would be a piece of cake. "…Right," he blushed. "Sorry."

"It's okay. You want to help me?"

"Can I?!"

"Sure. Then we'll try out one of these games, huh?"

"That would be cool."

The morning had been blessedly free of paparazzi, but as they entered the parking garage with two loaded-down stockmen on their heels they found that a few people had taken lessons from Anaxas' car-stalking and were waiting for them. Flashes went off as they emerged, and beside him Bruce heard a sigh. "…Okay?" he asked, low.

"…Yeah," he decided after a few steps. "These ones don't seem as mean as that other guy. Mr. Anaxas." _At least none of them was leaning on your car,_ he thought as the small group spread out to let them through to the vehicle. A strong hand fell onto his shoulder, keeping him close by as they wove through the cameras. The trunk opened up at the push of a button on the billionaire's keys, but before he could see the uncomfortable-looking mall workers begin to place their purchases inside Dick was hustled to his seat, the tinted window blocking him from the hungry lenses.

After several minutes Bruce slipped into the driver's chair, slammed his door, and leaned back with an exasperated look. _They're going to interview those employees, I just know it,_ he grimaced. _And suddenly the story of the billionaire who doesn't know how to play video games will be plastered all over the internet. Probably go viral.._. "…We're going to have to come back another day to do the rest of it, I think, kiddo," he told him, shifting his attention to the back seat apologetically. "I wouldn't put it past a few of them to try and follow us around the store and get pictures of us shopping."

"It's really okay," he insisted. "You spent a _ton_ of money today. Too much money," he muttered, shaking his head. The man had tried to hide the final sum from him, stepping in front of the display and then covering the number on the receipt with his arm while he signed, but even just the rough estimate that he'd worked out for himself made the child feel sick.

"…Dick," Bruce turned to face him, "it was _not_ too much. I wanted to buy you those things, and I want to buy you _more _things. A _lot_ more things," he disclosed gently.

"But why? I already like you, and I don't _need_ any of it. I know you said it's about wanting it, but…it makes me feel strange, seeing you spend so much money on me. That was…that was almost more than mom…mom and dad made in three months of work," he whispered. "And we just blew it on video games. What if we don't even _like_ them?"

"First off, we _will_ like them." _Something in those bags has to be interesting to both of us,_ he thought desperately, _surely_. "And second…I know this is awkward for you. It's got to be hard to go from…from pinching pennies to make ends meet to just pulling out a credit card every time you want to buy something. But…I really need you to let me buy you things, okay? It's…it's important to me." _I don't know how else to show you that I care, chum,_ he bit back. _I've never been good at saying how I feel. I have to…I have to show it, somehow. This is how I do that. I just wish monetary affection was a language you were more familiar with…_

"…I don't understand, Bruce," he shook his head, confused. "I want to, but…I don't."

"I know," he nodded. "But you will someday, maybe. Just…just know that I'm not spending money on you because I'm under duress, or because I feel obligated. I'm doing it because I _want_ to. Okay?" He met his gaze, trying to relay the importance of his words.

"…Okay. And I'll keep trying to understand," Dick promised.

"I know you will, kiddo," he stretched back to pat his knee. "Thank you."

"…I'm pretty sure _I'm_ the one who should be saying that right now. So…thank _you_. We got a lot of neat looking games. Which one do you think we should play first, once we get it all set up?" _We spent all that money, so we've __got__ to use it. _

The billionaire smiled at him in the rearview mirror as he checked for photographers and then let the car roll slowly backwards. "…Whichever one you want, chum." _Whatever makes you happy. _"Wait until you see the game room," he went on.

"…The game room? I thought we were just going to put all of this in the den," the boy looked surprised. "Where _is_ the game room?"

"It's the door after the library. I haven't been in there in…well, a while, but that's the best place to set up. The television in there is probably a bit small; I'll have to have Alfred order a bigger one."

Dick opened his mouth to rebut that it wasn't necessary, then remembered what his guardian had just said and closed his lips again. "Okay," he voiced instead. _I don't get why buying me stuff makes you happy, Bruce, but…whatever it takes, I guess._

"Goodness!" Alfred exclaimed when they stumbled through the front door with bag-laden arms. "I see you found plenty, young sir," he commented as he took the child's load.

He blushed. "I…uh…yeah," he mumbled. _It's not like that! I…I'm not trying to steal, or take advantage of the fact that he likes to buy me things. _Deep down he knew that the butler didn't think of him as such, but the idea of what people who _didn't_ know him would say still hurt. "I'm going to go get…more." With that, he vanished back outside.

"Did I say something wrong, Master Wayne?" the butler queried as he moved to watch his younger charge through the window.

"…He's still sketchy about spending money. That's all. I practically had to convince him to pick out games, and we didn't even _get_ to any other floors because of the photographers that swarmed when we went down to put all of this in the car."

"So my comment was untimely, to say the least."

"Ah…yeah."

"Hmm…" _Well, at any rate I've at least got good news to cheer him up with._ "Is that everything, Master Dick?" he queried when the youth reappeared.

"Almost."

"Well, why don't you leave the rest to me, and head back to the gym with Master Wayne. Something came for you today that I think you'll quite enjoy. Take your time," he added as he surveyed the boxes and bags that had been brought in thus far. "It may take me a bit of time to get everything set up for you in the game room. I assume, sir, that that is where you want all of this?"

"Yes. The game room's fine. Also, let's see about getting a bigger TV for in there." _…The bars must have come in,_ he nearly grinned. _He's going to love those…I should have had Alfred put them down in the cave, though, so that he can play on them while I'm doing my workouts. We'll just have to get a second set._

"Of course."

"Come on, kiddo," the billionaire beckoned.

"…The gym?" he looked confused.

"Yup."

"But what…?"

Bruce couldn't keep it inside. "We ordered some uneven bars. Are they all set up and ready to go?" he asked the Englishman.

"Naturally, sir. There are plenty of good mats beneath them, and the bars themselves are admirably sturdy. It took a few iterations of the room to make everything fit, but I believe there's plenty of space."

"You…you _really_ got me bars?" Dick breathed. As much as part of him hated the fact that so much money had been spent today, first on the games and now on gymnastics equipment, a much larger part was simply elated at the thought of being back in the air. "Honest?"

"Honest. Let's go see them, I'll prove it to you. Maybe you can show me some of your moves. What do you think?"

The boy paled with excitement. "Really?!"

"You bet." _That somersault was mind-blowing. I want to know what else you can do._

_ Yes. We need to know so we have an idea of where to start training him,_ Batman threw in.

_We aren't training him to do __anything__,_ Bruce retorted. _…But maybe, if he's as advanced of an acrobat as I think he is, he can teach __us__ a few things._

_ …Agreed, on the latter point only._

The argument was cut off by a little squeal of delight. Dick beamed happily at him, his discomfort about the amount that must have been spent vanishing completely for the moment in the face of an opportunity to do what he did best. Unable to wait another moment, he took off down the hall. "Race you!" he called over his shoulder.

Bruce sent a look at the butler, whom he found chuckling slightly at the boy's delight. "…Alfred?"

"Oh, go on with you, sir," he waved him away. "Don't _run_, obviously – you ought to let him win the race, in my opinion – but do catch up with him, at least." He smiled slightly, eyes twinkling. "After all, you have a show to attend."


	51. Chapter 51

Dick approached the setup with a deeply reverent posture, stepping lightly as if the bars were an animal he might frighten with his footfalls. The apparatus in front of him was just like the one he had trained on, day after day, for two years before he'd been allowed to begin practicing on the actual trapeze. They'd all used the unevens, sometimes just for fun, other times because they were only camping for one night and it wasn't worth putting up the big top when there wasn't a show to be given. Despite the obvious difference in age between the circus' set and the one he approached now, the bars' very presence riled up a strange sense of satisfaction and belonging in his gut. _…Bruce bought these for __me__,_ he mused. _I guess he might want to use them, too, but…wouldn't he have already had a set, in that case? Besides, he doesn't __look__ like an acrobat. And he doesn't move like one, either. No, I think…I think these wouldn't be here if I wasn't here, too._

"It looks like Alfred anticipated you."

The boy turned to find that the man he'd been ruminating about had entered the gym behind him. "…Huh?"

Bruce pointed to a set of garments that lay on the weight bench. "He left you workout clothes."

"Oh! I hope they're shorts," he frowned slightly as he moved to examine the articles. "…Good. Pants _hurt_ on the bars. They rub against the backs of your knees," he explained as he changed hastily. "It's way better to just have bare skin there." Picking up a pair of fingerless leather gloves, he considered them. "…We never used grips," he confessed. "Dad…he always said that generations of Graysons did just fine without them, so he wouldn't use them. He taught mom without them, and then…then he taught me. Is it…is it okay if I don't use them?" he asked nervously. "I understand if it's a safety thing for CPS, but…I might not be as smooth with them on, since I'm not used to them."

The billionaire shook his head slowly. "I want to see your best show, Dick," he said gravely. "If you're not used to using grips, and you feel like you'll be safe up there without them, then I'm not going to force you. Besides, I don't see CPS around anywhere in here."

"Me, neither," the child smiled back. "Which is good, because they'd probably try to stop me, and…well, I don't like it when people interrupt my routine."

"So you still have a routine you've practiced recently, then?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded, now circling the bars and checking the frames and wires holding it all up. "It's got some of the kind of stuff I do…did…in our normal trapeze show, expect for the quad. I can't do _that_ from the bars because I don't get enough height to guarantee time to complete it and land correctly."

"Then don't risk it."

"I won't. It would be really stupid if I broke something the very first time I used the most amazing birthday present ever." He paused. "…That is what this is, isn't it?"

"To be honest, I didn't know that your birthday was coming up when I had Alfred order them," Bruce confessed. "But if you want to think of them as a birthday present, that's fine with me. So long as you like them."

Dick had finished his examination and retreated a number of steps to where a small stand held tape and powder. Giving his hands a liberal application of the latter, he shot his guardian a giddy look. "Let's find out if I do." With that, he pelted towards his new toy.

The man prepared to tell him to stop, step back, and do some warm ups before he tried his usual display after two weeks without practice. Before a sound could leave his throat, however, a pair of compact palms hit the bottom horizontal and propelled their owner towards the upper courtesy of a handspring. After that, the billionaire's amazement was so great that he simply _couldn't_ speak, his mouth hanging open of its own accord as he watched.

He was flying, and it was ecstasy. His hands and feet tapped and gripped the wood, changing his swing direction and orientation with flawless ease. The moves flared back to life without needing to be thought of, muscle memory sparking along his limbs and guiding him automatically through every flip, tuck, and release. No swing was empty, no motion wasted; his body was ferrofluid, chasing an invisible magnet through the air. For a moment, nothing mattered other than the pursuit; the gym, Bruce, even his parents all faded away. His eyes had been vaguely monitoring the bar positions, but now that he had them locked in his mind there was no need to let the bright lights of the room interfere with his nirvana. His lids slipped shut.

_…I'll never be half as smooth as he is,_ Bruce shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his gaping lips.

_ Several of those moves could easily be modified into kicks. If, say, he were to swing in on a grapple line,_ Batman, equally floored and proving incapable of hiding the fact, suggested.

_Yeah. Like that one,_ he noted. _…Hey! No. I'm __not__ getting sucked into that, goddamn it. Just…let me enjoy the show._

It was over much too soon. Dick let his eyes open again as he went into a handstand on the lower bar, measuring the exact distance to the higher rod that was his destination. As his body fell back towards the earth, he snapped his feet around to the wood between his hands. He stayed bent double through half a rotation, and then straightened back out, letting go completely in the instant that his figure was rigidly perpendicular to the floor. The release sent him sailing backwards head first beneath the upper bar, which he grabbed and used to accelerate his momentum. Loosening his fingers for the final time, he rocketed upwards, hit the apex of his climb, and then somersaulted three times before his feet hit the mat. One slipped slightly, and the less than perfect dismount drew a mighty frown across his face.

_ …Holy fucking shit. _For a long moment, all Bruce could do was blink. Then he stumbled to the boy, feeling like a complete klutz as he nearly tripped on the edge of the protective padding laid down beneath the performance area, and dropped to his knees. "…Dick, that was one of the most amazing things I have _ever_ seen," he whispered with total sincerity.

"Thanks," he blushed, looking unconvinced. "But…it was just a routine. And I screwed up the landing."

"I could _never_ do what you just did," the man insisted.

"You're Batman," he replied quizzically. "You can do…you know…whatever you want."

"Not that," he negated, leaving no room for further questioning as he pulled him into a hug. "That…you…_wow_."

"…I really like my present, Bruce," he changed the subject, wrapping his arms around his neck. "Thank you."

"I'm glad, kiddo," he breathed back. "Just promise me you'll keep practicing, okay? Don't stop doing that just because you don't have a trapeze or an audience anymore."

"I won't. It's the only way I can fly. And I _have_ to fly," the boy said desperately. "I missed it so much."

"I know. But now you can." _…Just let it be enough. Please, let it be enough._

"I see you've gotten to work already, then, young sir?" They turned to find Alfred standing just inside the doorway. "…I suppose I'm too late for the show, at least from the look of things."

"…No," Dick said, pulling away. "I'll do it again. Maybe I can stick my landing. And I felt like my feet were sloppy during my Shaposhnikova. That was the move right before I dismounted," he told Bruce, who looked confused.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah, show Alfred." _…I thought it all looked perfect, but I guess you'd know what it felt like better than I do. __I've__ certainly never done a…a whatever you called it._

"…You won't get bored? I was going to do the same routine."

"Chum, I will _never_ get bored of watching you do this. You're _that_ good."

He shrugged. "…Dad was way better," he said quietly, then pulled away and headed for the other side of the apparatus. "Ready when you are."

Bruce joined the butler, who had advanced to the edge of the mat. "Don't take your eyes off of him," he advised.

"I hadn't planned on doing so, sir. Ready, Master Dick," he called out. Less than a minute later he, too, was gaping.

"…That was cleaner," the child said as he walked towards them. "I thought, at least. I don't know, what did you think?"

The adults exchanged a look. "…May I ask you a question, young sir?" the Englishman ventured, still looking a bit overwhelmed.

"Sure, Alfred."

"Is there anything, to your knowledge, at which you are not inordinately skilled?"

The billionaire gave a sharp laugh. "No shit. Kidding," he corrected quickly. "No kidding."

"I'm not good at lots of things," he answered modestly.

"Like realizing how good you are at so _many_ things?" Bruce teased. "I'm not kidding, Dick, that was amazing. It really was."

"Indeed," the butler conceded. _On top of your academic skills and the basic morality and polite attitude that you seem to possess, there's this talent, as well. I shouldn't be surprised that you managed to pluck a veritable boy wonder out of the kaleidoscope of available children in this city, Bruce, and yet here I stand amazed._

"…Do I have time to do it again?" he asked, assuming that the older man had come to fetch them to eat. "There's something new I want to try. A…modification," he tried out the word.

"I've prepared a light luncheon to hold you until the banquet tonight," Alfred revealed. "But…I suppose it won't cool completely in the time it will take you to repeat your feat." _Yes, do it again, child. By all means. _

Flashing a grin that outshone the fluorescents overhead, the youth cartwheeled back to his start point and ran through his set once more. This time he added an extra transition, lengthening the performance by a few seconds.

"…I didn't think it could get any better," Bruce murmured.

"No, nor did I," the butler replied in kind as his younger charge landed. "That was even more impressive, Master Dick," he complimented. "Well done."

"You're going to have to show that to Leslie the next time she comes over," the billionaire crossed his arms. _She'll probably manage to both love it and wish that there was some way you could wear a helmet,_ he thought wryly.

"Yes, I'm sure Dr. Thompkins will be delighted. Now then, come along and get changed so you can eat."

"Can't…can't I eat in this?" he hesitated. "You know, so I can come back when I'm done?" There was almost a whine in his tone. _It's been so long…I just want to stay up there all day long,_ he begged silently.

"What about all those video games we need to try out?" Bruce countered. "They aren't going to play themselves."

"…That's true," his brows drew down pensively. _But…I have bars now. Who needs video games when they have bars? Still…he spent so much money on all of that stuff…_

"You can't eat and then come immediately back here, in any case. You need to let your food settle," Alfred ruled. "They'll still be here in the morning, I assure you."

"The _morning_?" _I have to wait that long?!_

"I'm afraid so. By the time you've eaten and played one of your new games for an hour or so, it will be about time for you to begin getting dressed for the banquet."

"…Crud." _I don't even care about the banquet now, not with __these__ waiting for me._ He'd made a deal, though, and he wasn't going to go back on it. _Promises are important,_ he thought firmly, recalling one of the earliest life lessons his father had taught him. "Okay," he semi-huffed, then made his way to where he'd left his clothes piled on the floor.

"I'd say that was a winning idea, Master Wayne," Alfred congratulated. "He seems quite enamored."

"…Can you get a second set? Maybe with a third bar that we can set, low, on the other side of the high bar?"

"For downstairs, I assume?"

"Yes. And rings, too."

"We have those around here somewhere, and it shouldn't be too difficult to procure another set of bars. I'll search for them once I've gotten the pair of you on your way, and see to it that things are rearranged below to make room."

"Good." They were silent for a moment as Dick threw one last wistful look at his gift and headed towards them. "I want to encourage him in this."

"You ought to, sir. He has a remarkable talent; it would be a shame to see it go to waste. "

_Yeah. It would be,_ he sighed. _…Shit. _

Their late lunch was a quiet affair, the child sulking a little about not being able to go to the gym again before the next day, the man stewing unhappily about the underlying meaning of what he'd just witnessed. It wasn't until they settled down on the couch in front of the opening screen for _Katamari_ that either of them smiled again. "…This game is kind of weird," the youth giggled a minute later as he bumped into an object he wasn't quite big enough to pick up yet. "But it's also kind of cool."

Even the billionaire had to admit that he was diverted. They switched the controller back and forth between levels, and before long their katamaris were big enough that picking up people and farm animals became common practice. Watching mooing digital cows roll past on the screen was amusing, to say the least, and the time that passed before Dick's tuxedo was delivered seemed to be over in a flash.

"…Well, young sir," the butler smiled delightedly as he finished helping the besuited boy dress a short while thereafter. "I am glad you chose this particular ensemble. I was hoping you would. It matches your eyes remarkably well."

"I _hate_ this tie," he answered, tugging at it.

"Join the club, chum," Bruce entered the bedroom clad in his own eveningwear. "And you can't loosen them, either, or they don't look right." The corner of his mouth turned up. "It looks even better than it did in the store," he commented.

"Tailoring will work such miracles, Master Wayne," Alfred noted. "How is your own fitting of late, by the way?"

"Same as always. Miserably."

"Hmm…" He circled him critically. "…Nonsense. It fits very well. You simply don't like to wear it, is all."

"All in all, I'd rather go downstairs and put on the cowl, yes," he snarked.

"…Bruce?" Dick asked, reminded of the _other_ end of the deal by the mention of Batman's headgear.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I get to design Robin's costume, right? After…after the banquet tonight?"

"…Right," he answered grudgingly. "Just like we discussed."

"But…do you just have stuff laying around that I can use, or…?"

"You and I will collaborate, Master Dick," the butler promised as he hustled them out of the room and towards the stairs. "For now, you've an event to get to. Are you sure you don't want driven, sir?" he asked for a final time.

"No, we'll drive ourselves. There's no reason to expose all _three_ of us to the paparazzi. They're going to be swarming anyway, and if word got out that Dick will be there tonight…well, let's just hope that didn't happen. We'll take the green Maserati."

"…You want to take a convertible to an event where you anticipate high press attendance?" Alfred arched an eyebrow.

"They're going to take our picture anyway. And Dick's probably never been in a convertible, have you?"

"…Is that one of those cars that the roof comes off of?"

"Yes."

"No, but they look really, _really_ cool."

"Well, there you go. Besides, it's decidedly un-Brucie to show up to anything in a sober-looking vehicle after six PM," he rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Just ensure that it's quite obvious that _you_ are sober when you climb back behind the wheel," the butler cautioned.

"…'Brucie'?" the boy repeated with a little chortle. "What…?"

"It's a bit of a long story, chum, but it _is_ important. I'll explain in the car. Are you ready to go?"

"I…" Suddenly the foyer they were standing in seemed warm and inviting, at least in comparison to the bevy of photographers and strangers that he knew were waiting to claw at him somewhere downtown. "I guess I have to be, don't I?"

"It helps, but the first time is always hell." Seeing that he wasn't helping, he bent down to the child's level. "Which is why I'll be there with you. Stick close, and everything will be just fine. Okay?"

"…Okay," he smiled softly. "I'll stick with you."

"Good." He stood, then offered his hand when it remained obvious that the youth was nervous. "All right, Dicky. It's time for your society debut." He paused. "Let's go knock the cashmere socks off of some snobs."


	52. Chapter 52

"So…you were going to tell me about Brucie?" Dick reminded his guardian as they rolled down the driveway. They'd said their goodbyes to Alfred several minutes earlier, but it had taken a little time for the boy to return his eyes to something resembling their normal size after he saw the sleek piece of machinery that would be transporting them. The billionaire had let him stroke the bottle-green paint and draw his fingers along the white leather interior, hoping it would make him more comfortable with the blatantly expensive automobile. Finally, though, he'd had to cut him off and urge him to take his seat lest they be slightly more than fashionably late.

Now he glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Yeah. What I'm about to tell you is another secret, all right? And it's important, too; almost as important as Batman. In fact, it's part of the reason Batman is able to be." He paused, trying to decide how best to begin. "…Do you remember what I told you about how these nights are just acts for the cameras?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Brucie is my act. My character. I play him at these sorts of events so that the majority of people think of Bruce Wayne as a more-or-less empty-headed playboy who, admittedly, has a flair for business."

Dick stared at him. "You're super smart, though, Bruce! People should know that!"

"If people truly knew that, it would be one step closer to them potentially connecting me to Batman," he pointed out. "And that's the last thing we want."

"…So you go through life with everyone thinking you're kind of dumb?!"

"It's a price I pay, yes. The people whose opinions I truly respect, though, Dick, _they_ know I'm not as stupid as I act for the cameras. Everyone else…the trick is to try and not care that they don't know the real me. If they did, I couldn't protect them the way I do. Brucie Wayne is a flighty, flirtatious jock so that Batman can be a hard-nosed, driven protector. Do you see what I'm saying? They can never overlap in people's minds. They have to live in completely different worlds."

The boy settled back in his seat. "…Huh." _That sounds really hard,_ he frowned. "Bruce…I don't know if I can do that," he said quietly.

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be…you know…like that. Do...do I have to?"

"No," he shook his head. "You need to just focus on being yourself, kiddo. No one is going to connect you and Batman; there's no basis for it. You should be you, and no one else." _Including Robin,_ he didn't add, knowing that it would only upset him. _Stay Dick Grayson. That's more than enough for me._

"But…how do I act around you? I mean, if you're that much different, it's going to be weird."

"This won't be as bad as it would be if we were going to a full-blown party." _…Did I even explain to him what exactly this event is?_ he wondered. _I don't think I did._ "Do you know what we're going to?"

"Alfred said it's a charity dinner."

"It is," he agreed. "The money tonight goes to a foundation that I started. In honor of my parents."

"…Oh. So," he wrinkled his nose, "you're going to be less ditzy than normal tonight, then?"

"Yes. Due to the nature of…things, people are used to me being a bit more sober than usual at Wayne Foundation evenings." _The worst of the floozies won't be there, at least,_ he hoped. _This isn't their kind of event. And it's a good thing, too, because I don't know how you'd react to seeing them hang off of me the way they do… _"You'll notice a difference, but you aren't going to be exposed to party-Brucie. Just remember what I said earlier, though; these people won't be throwing back liquor like there's no tomorrow, but they _will_ talk, and they won't care who overhears them. If someone says something out of line, ignore them. Okay?" _I guess I do need you to act just a little, after all, but…not to the level I do. _

"So…play deaf, kind of?" he cocked his head to the side.

"That's a good way of thinking about it, yes." He paused. "Any other questions, or do you want me to roll the top back?"

"Um…" _I can't really think of anything else I can ask until we get there and I see just how different you are, so…_ "Let's put the top down." A minute later he giggled as the first lick of wind brushed his forehead. The stars sprawled out overhead as they descended towards the city, and he tilted his head back to watch them. _…Is Batman going to Newtown later?_ he nearly blurted out, then bit it back. _I'll just make him mad if I ask that. But it's such a nice evening…it even feels kind of lucky. I bet he could get some good info on Zucco tonight…_

_…I hope this wasn't a mistake,_ Bruce's mouth tightened a half hour later as they approached the Weaver Museum of Arts and Industries. Shortly after the revitalization of Wayne Enterprises, the billionaire had donated a vast sum of money to have a wing of the then-crumbling building restored. That donation had made it possible for him to host happenings amongst the exhibits almost at will, and it was here that many of the Foundation's benefits took place. It had been Lucius' idea to use the demonstrated munificence of the donors whose names were affixed to many of the displays to loosen the wallets of banquet attendees, and thus far it had been a wildly successful exercise in subliminal peer pressure.

Tonight, however, the herd instinct had worked against him, pulling out droves of photographers and news people. Spotting them lining the road from afar, he quickly stabbed the button that would bring the convertible's roof and windows back up, his shoulders relaxing slightly when he heard a final _click_ indicating the everything was locked in place. _The glass might not be tinted, but at least this way they can't shove their cameras right in his face._

"…That's a lot of paparazzi," Dick commented quietly, a note of disconcertment tingeing his words.

"We'll be able to pull almost right up to the door," Bruce assured him. "And there are only a few who have passes to get inside. They're the discreet ones; you probably won't even notice that they're taking pictures." He wasn't lying. Rather than driving up to the front entrance, he circled around to a rear door where a single security guard stood. A few camera-wielders had anticipated him and rushed forward as he slowed to a stop, but it was nothing like the mob on the other side of the building. "…Okay, chum. Smile, and don't let them get to you. Got it?"

"…Got it," he nodded his reply just as the driver's door was opened by a valet who had sprinted around to meet them.

"You'd better hurry, Mr. Wayne, there were like twenty of them right behind me," the uniformed man said quickly.

"Right. I've just got one more in the back." After his statement he stood, waiting expectantly.

"Oh! Sorry about that," the red-suited fellow leapt to open the rear door after an awkward moment had passed. "I wasn't expecting…" His expression morphed from embarrassment to shock as the child slithered out. "…Whoa."

"Hi," he said as brightly as he could manage with flashbulbs going off a mere dozen feet away.

"Uh…hey," came back uncomfortably.

"…Come on, Dick. Let's get inside before the photographers eat us alive," Bruce summoned him, tossing his keys to the valet.

"Thanks for opening the door for me," he called over his shoulder as he obeyed. _I know it's supposed to be kind of a surprise that I'm here, but that guy looked __really__ freaked out,_ he mused as the billionaire led him inside. The security guard who let them in gave him a wide-eyed glance as they passed him, too. _I hope __everyone__ doesn't look at me like that…_ "Bruce?" he whispered as the exit swung shut behind them, the Maserati revving on the other side.

"Oh, Mr. Wayne, I was so worried you weren't going to ma-" A rail-thin woman dressed head to toe in cream-colored linen interrupted, and then stumbled to a stop a short distance away. "…Make it in time," she finished after a moment, her eyes darting between the man and the boy.

"This is Gretchen. She manages all of the Foundation events," he informed the child. "Gretchen, I'm sure you know who this is," he laughed.

"I…I do," she replied, blinking at him. "Well. This is your guest for the evening, then?"

"Yes."

"Hi!"

"…We were expecting Miss Kline, or perhaps Miss Donahue. Certainly not…well, not a child. Mr. Wayne," she stepped closer, having completely ignored Dick's greeting, "this is an alcohol-allowed dinner."

"Good. I could use a scotch," he joked. When her visage didn't change, he sighed exasperatedly and turned to the youth. "There are a lot of…uh..._adult_ drinks here tonight. Don't touch them, not even mine. We'll order you some orange juice or something, okay?"

"…Ew," he wrinkled his nose. _Oranges are good, but they aren't supposed to have all their juice squeezed out._

"…Apple juice?" he tried instead.

"…Okay."

"Okay," he nodded, returning his attention to the female. "See, Gretchen? No problem."

"…Yes," she said with a smile that suggested she wouldn't mind stalling the proceedings if it meant Bruce had time to take the child home. "I'm sure the others will be just…delighted. Follow me, please."

_…This isn't a very good start, if someone who works for Bruce's charity doesn't like me being here, _Dick thought glumly as they moved deeper into the museum. He tried to glance at the exhibits as he trotted to keep up with Gretchen's angry stride, but they flew by in too much of a blur. _Maybe we can come back through slower on the way out…_

The corridor ended at the main entrance hall, where some three hundred people were milling about with drinks in hand. A rosy-glassed rotunda soared high above, making the space seemed almost endless. "…You could put such an amazing show on in here," the boy breathed, pausing to stare upwards. The woman preparing to guide them across the populated floor stopped cold and turned back with a scandalized look; Bruce, who had also stopped, merely chuckled, and while he couldn't be certain given the fact that the man was acting Dick thought it _might_ have been a truthful sign of amusement.

"Yes, well," Gretchen said icily. "Follow me, please."

_Well, you could,_ he bit back as he turned to do as he'd been told. Just then, a hush fell over the assembly, a silent testament to the fact that Bruce Wayne's mystery guest had been spotted and identified.

_Showtime,_ the billionaire mouthed to him as he stepped up and dropped a hand onto his shoulder. "I see you all got started without me," he threw out another jest before his fingers tightened slightly. "…Okay?" fell out of the side of his mouth.

He gulped. "…Yeah," he nodded. _I have to be. I promised, and Robin's costume is at stake. Besides, you can't leave just to take me back to the house. Not now that they've seen you, at least._

Most of the crowd had resumed their small talk immediately after Bruce's comment, but regular glances in their direction betrayed the turn of topic that most of the conversations had taken. Gretchen vanished, flying off to take care of some sudden emergency. Several people surrounded them before they could take a step further, and Dick inched closer to his guardian nervously.

"…Oh my _god_, Brucie, he's _adorable!_" a perky brunette all but squealed as she approached with an older woman trailed behind her. "I was _so_ hoping you'd bring him! And that _suit_!" She clapped her hands. "Seriously, _where_ did you get such a precious looking little thing?"

_Did she not read the papers, or…?_ Dick thought snarkily. _…Oh. That was kind of mean. Still, though…what kind of a question is that to ask? Everyone must know where he 'got' me by now._ His thoughts were cut off as the younger female crouched in front of him with a giddy smile. _Oh, boy. If that was the first thing out of her mouth, how much worse will the stuff she wants to ask __me__ be?_ "…Hi," he blushed.

She squeaked as his cheeks darkened. "Oh, I didn't mean to make you feel out of sorts," she pouted exaggeratedly.

"Candice!" the matron half-snapped. "Stand _up_! Mr. Wayne," she greeted, her attitude rotating one hundred and eighty degrees as she offered her hand to Bruce. "Such a pleasure to see you and your…recent acquisition," she smiled coldly down at the child.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins, but as per usual the pleasure is all mine," he replied suavely, bending low over her knuckles and holding back the urge to lambast her for referring to Dick as if he were a new car he'd just picked up at the dealership.

"I'm just so happy that I could make it tonight," she shook her head. "I swear, each winter only makes my health worse…if I could just see my Candice married to a good man – a man like you, Mr. Wayne, always throwing these big charity to-dos and giving your time and energy to the…" her eyes slid back to the child, "…less fortunate – then I could die happy."

"Mother, _really_," the younger woman complained mildly.

"Really what, my dear? I meant every word of it. I really _could _die happy."

"I meant…" Her gaze, too, went to Dick for a moment, although it carried a much kinder look than that of her mother.

"…Yes, well. On that note, have you chosen a boarding school yet?"

_Boarding school?_ The words settled in the back of the boy's mind and oozed down frighteningly. _Like…sending me away? No, Bruce, please, I know I have to go to school, but not away from you…_

"I'm considering several options here in the city," the billionaire replied easily.

"Ah. Well, I suppose it _would_ be difficult to place a child like him in the sort of establishments the men of your line are used to attending."

"_Mother!_" Candice looked horrified.

"Candice, won't you get Mr. Wayne a drink? I'm sure you remember what he likes, don't you?" she prodded.

"…Scotch and water?"

"Leave the water out," he winked. He took a blatantly appreciative look at the hug of her dress around her hips as she turned, then swiveled back to the other speaker. "I haven't tried," he shrugged. "I kind of like having him around."

"…Surely you plan on sending any future _biological_ children off for their education, though?"

Bruce grinned and decided to be just a little bit wicked. "Biological kids? I don't know about that, Mrs. Higgins. After all, I have to find the right woman first, don't I? Thank you, Candice," he took a glass from her as she returned from the bar a few steps away. "…I'm sorry, ladies, but I see Mr. Welden waving at me from here. Excuse us." Taking a long gulp of his drink, he shot them a smile and moved away, steering Dick along with him.

_…Should I say goodbye?!_ he fretted. Glancing back, he found both the hateful woman and her daughter watching them go. Candice threw him a little wave; her mother just stared, gave a little sniff, and turned away. _Gosh, that lady wasn't very nice…_

"Welden," the billionaire greeted as they came up to someone else. "…Vodka tonic?"

"There is nothing else here worth drinking," the older man replied as he sipped. "Not even that stuff you've got, as fine as I'm sure it is. You remember Carla?" he indicated a woman of roughly thirty five who stood beside him.

"I do. Back in town for the season, or…?" he hinted with a sly grin.

"Recently divorced," she replied. Her mien was vaguely haunted, but there was a pleasant smile plastered on her mouth. "I'm back in Gotham permanently. I see no point in leaving again. Not for anyone."

"Well, good," he opined. "I'll be seeing you around more often, then, I imagine."

"At events like this, certainly. But then," her gaze traveled to Dick, and the upward curve of her mouth finally reached her eyes, "I suppose you'll be cutting back on the wilder social activities now, won't you?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid kids tend to curtail partying," he jested. "…Dick, this is Mr. and Miss Welden."

"Hi," he greeted. "Nice to meet you."

"Hello there," the steely-haired male answered, offering his hand. "…Tell me, how do you like it up there so far?"

Bruce nearly stiffened at the question, then decided that Welden wasn't the sort to be fishing for clues for CPS.

"Um…I like it," came back a bit nervously as he shook.

"Well, you ought to. You were quite fortunate to get picked up by someone like Mr. Wayne."

_…What am I supposed to say to that? I know I was lucky, but…it's kind of rude to just come out and say it like that, isn't it? These people have weird ideas about what is and isn't okay to just blurt out…_ "Yes, sir," he managed finally.

"I think it's a wonderful idea," Carla voiced. "Adopting a child. Especially if don't want to or can't have children of your own. Not that that will ever be an issue for you, Mr. Wayne, at least not once you meet the right woman," she gave him an assessing look.

"Marriage-quality women aren't found at those weekend house parties you've been used to attending," Welden announced confidently. "They're found at things like this, where the focus is on civility and good works instead of how much alcohol you can pour down your gullet."

"Well, I've still got a fair bit more booze to do that with before I'm ready to settle down," Bruce chuckled, holding up his half-empty glass.

"But you're getting there," the woman judged quietly. "The charity evident at tonight's event is demonstrative of that much."

The billionaire wanted to correct her, to tell her that Dick was _not_ a charity case, not some hapless waif that he'd taken in just to bolster his appearance of readiness on the marriage market. _Damn, it's much harder to let the insults roll off when they're about him instead of me,_ he frowned slightly. _I don't even think she was trying to be nasty, she just…doesn't get it._

Things went on like that for over an hour as cocktails were imbibed and canapés disappeared. They circled the room several times – Bruce evidently needed to speak with everyone present, although a few people seemed to actively avoid him once they saw that Dick was going to stick close – and met more people than the boy had any hope of remembering. Their attitudes ran the gamut; some, like Candice, were delighted but clueless, while others were obviously more calculating in their approval or disapproval. As they moved between conversations, the boy overheard a variety of adjectives being exchanged in the crowd, all of which he was positive were in reference to him. _Charity case. Penniless. Precious._ He didn't mind the last one so much, and the second was technically true save for the money Pop Haly had given him, but every time he caught a cold glance sent in his direction or found himself being referred to as Bruce's good deed for the year a mixture of anger and sadness rose into his throat. _It's more than that,_ he thought. _We understand each other. He wouldn't have told me about Batman if it wasn't about more than just giving me a place to live. Right?_

The last person they spoke with before dinner was announced almost pushed the child over the edge into an outburst. Wearied by the panoply of faces he'd seen and the speculation he'd picked up on during their sojourns, he assumed that his guardian's discussion with one Dr. Clarence Ridgeworth would run along the same lines that the rest of the evening's discourse had. He was wrong.

"…Quite the interesting little social experiment you've got going on right now," the man stated.

"…Excuse me?" Bruce, too, was beginning to feel run down. Normally he could go for hours and hours playing dumb, but tonight, with every other word being something either less-than-flattering or downright misunderstood about the boy at his side, he'd been drained with record speed.

"Well, the child. You picked him up out of obscurity, and now you're bringing him to social functions all dressed up like he was born to go to them. It seems as if you're trying to turn him into a little gentleman. It won't work, of course," he waved his hand, "but it's always interesting to see someone make the attempt. You watch, he'll end up working some blue-collar job in the end. It's ingrained in him; you can't wash that out no matter how pretty you dress him up or how hard you scrub. Don't get me wrong, I think it's great that you've given him a roof over his head, and like I said it's a fun little experiment. You've always got something new going on; that's why I keep giving to your organization. Just don't get so involved in trying to raise this kid above his station that you neglect to have one who can actually carry on your family name and reputation."

The billionaire was boiling beneath his collar. _You don't even know him, you sleazy son of a bitch,_ he ached to growl. _And your ideas about the social ladder are about a century and a half too late. _He glanced down at the youth and found him biting his lip silently, staring up with watery blue eyes at the man who was waiting for some sort of reply. _And now you've got him about ready to cry. What was the point of that? You could have just kept all of that to yourself, or at least waited until he was out of earshot. _"Well," he ground out, "I appreciate that you keep coming out and giving year after year. You're one of our biggest donors, I'm told, so…" Disgusted with himself, he offered his hand, something he'd done rarely thus far in the evening. When the other man allowed his fingers to be taken into a grip, he squeezed a bit harder than was really necessary, only stopping when he saw his face twitched in discomfort. _Good. Maybe now you can ache all night the way you probably just made him likely to do. _

Dick _had_ been hurt, not just by that fellow but by the combination of various comments that had been flung as if he weren't standing right there the entire time. He could sense that Bruce was on the edge of extreme anger, as well, and had been watching him peripherally for cues. _…I don't know how you control yourself so well,_ he thought as he saw rage flare in his gaze and then be quickly dampened. _But…if you can do it, so can I._ Determined, he wrestled down the majority of his tears, leaving only a trace of mistiness behind as dinner was announced in the next gallery over.

Bruce crouched beside him as the masses began to move off towards the tables. "…Hungry?" he asked. _I know you're upset, but you __have__ to eat. It's going to look very, very bad otherwise._

_No, but…_ "I'll eat," he almost sniffled. _I don't want you to get in trouble if I don't,_ he didn't add out loud.

"Thanks, kiddo. After dinner it's all speeches and checks; there won't be much more of what we just did, okay?"

"Okay," he nodded, conjuring up a small smile in response to the concern and guilt that was rolling off of the man. "…I guess we should probably go in, huh?" he asked, noting that they were nearly alone in the entrance hall.

"Yeah," the billionaire agreed slowly. "We'll talk later, in the car, okay?" _I should never have brought you here. I know how these people are, why did I think they'd spare their barbs when the target was a child? That was idiotic of me._

"That would be nice," he answered desperately. _I'm not a charity case, really, am I?_ he couldn't wait to ask. _I mean, I didn't think I was, but…so many adults said I was, and they've known you a lot longer. I know it's Brucie that they think they know, and that should make me feel better, but…it doesn't. Not really._

_You're going to stew over those nasty comments the whole rest of the evening, aren't you? Damn it._ "Come on," he said softly, jerking his head towards the area being used for dining. "You'll like dessert. Alfred made a cake."

"…Alfred did?"

"Yes."

"That almost makes me hungry for real," he disclosed.

"Good," Bruce smiled a bit sadly as he stood. _I'm sorry, Dicky. I didn't think it would be this bad… _"Let's go take care of that, then."

**Author's Note: Tomorrow's chapter will likely post late due to a social commitment I have tonight (a much more pleasant one than Bruce and Dick's, happily). Happy reading!**


	53. Chapter 53

The boy dined with meticulous care, concentrating hard on not giving the crowd anything else to comment on. His napkin stayed neatly draped over his lap when he wasn't dabbing politely at his lips; he cut his food up into small bites before attempting to put any in his mouth; he even monitored his posture, keeping his back and shoulders rigidly straight. His valiant attempts at perfect politeness made it impossible to enjoy the meal he already didn't feel like ingesting, but at least he didn't think he was embarrassing his guardian in any way.

He clung to that thought all through dinner as his unease mounted. _They're staring at me. I know they are,_ he gulped, nearly choking on the bit of potato he'd been about to swallow. The heat of dozens of eyes seemed to bore into his head constantly, although he never quite managed to catch anyone in the act. Trying to ignore it, he kept his own gaze riveted to his dinner plate. It was still half-full when he set his fork down, unable to go on without being sick.

Bruce broke off his conversation with the head of Gotham City Light and Power to lean over to the boy. "…You okay, chum?"

_No. I want to go back to the house and never, ever come out. Except as Robin, but then no one would know it was me. They wouldn't know that I don't belong, so they wouldn't stare._ "…Yes," he said instead, folding his hands in his lap.

The billionaire restrained a deeply unhappy frown. _That was a lie. Damn it, what is wrong with these people? He's not a threat; I wasn't interested in marrying any of them, or their nieces, daughters, or cousins before he came along, so they were living pipe dreams in any case. _"…Okay. Listen, I'm going to have to go up on stage for a bit soon. Are you okay to sit here? You can come up with me if you want," he offered as the child blanched at the thought of being left alone amongst the jackals, "but I thought you might prefer to stay out of the limelight."

"I…" _I don't want you to go, but…I don't really want to go up there with you, either. _"Do you _have_ to go up?" he whispered a bit desperately.

The man winced. "Yes. I do." _Don't cry. Please. Not here, and not now._

"Oh." He took a deep breath. "I'll stay here, I guess."

"All right. You let me know if you change your mind." He waited to receive a nod, then pulled back. _I wish we could just go now,_ he grimaced. _But that would be very, very odd looking, unless something obvious occurred like you throwing up. _As much as he wanted to get the boy away from the people seated all around them, however, he didn't have it in him to suggest that he make himself sick as an out. _Besides, that would just fuel the more prejudicial ideas that were being flung around about him earlier,_ he recognized. _I'm afraid we're stuck here, kiddo, at least for another hour or so._

The minutes dragged by. Once the majority of the plates had been cleared away, Gretchen approached the microphone that had been set up at the back of the gallery and gave an overly peppy little speech that garnered obligatory applause. After her, several other people whom Dick was sure he'd been introduced to but couldn't recall the names of also said a few words, some discussing how the Foundation had helped their own organization, others reiterating the charity's goals and functions. By the time Bruce rose to move forward and accept the display check from the city comptroller, who had earned the right to present it by merit of his department's hefty annual allocations, most of the assembly had put plastic smiles on over their bored expressions.

The only people in the audience who looked as if they were experiencing real emotions, the billionaire decided as he waited to one side of the microphone for the grand total to be announced, were Gretchen and Dick. The events coordinator appeared impatient, glancing frequently at her watch as if they were running behind schedule; the boy seemed to be stuck somewhere between scared and determined, and refused to look away from his guardian. _…Poor baby. It will be over soon, I promise. It's going to be late by the time we get home, you'll probably pass right out. So you can be wakened by nightmares,_ he sighed mentally. _Great. Out of the pan and into the fire. And I __have__ to patrol tonight, and hit up Newtown again, so I won't even be in my room when you come looking…_

"…Two point five million dollars!"

He started, plastered a beaming smile across his lips, and reached out to shake the presenter's hand before stepping up to speak. "I'll keep it short, since I know we're all waiting on cake," he joked. "I just want to say that this is a great gesture by all of you, the leading men and women of Gotham."_ Yes, it was a truly fantastic example of how big of assholes many of you are,_ he added in his head. _…Shit, I can't say that. But…that doesn't mean I can't say __something__, albeit subtly, to strike back for what they were saying earlier._

_ Careful,_ Batman warned.

_I'm not as big of an idiot as they all think I am. I won't risk the Brucie mask or the cowl. Relax._ He cleared his throat before continuing. "This city is important to me," he seemed to go off on a tangent. "I grew up here, as you all know, and I have stayed here by choice. And no, it isn't just because of the great nightlife." He waited for a scattering of forced laughter to die away. "This Foundation gives me an opportunity to serve my city, and all of you power the Foundation with your donations."

He paused. "This evening you showed me what lies beneath the surface of Gotham. Your comments have been as generous as your contributions, and I thank you for that. Both have helped me to better understand the nature of the beast we're up against, and to realize that it is frequently hiding in the places where we least expect it and would hope to never discover it." A few of the more clever listeners shifted uncomfortably. He could have gone on for hours, slipping underhanded barbs into his sentences, but it was unnecessary. _None of them are going to change because of what I say here,_ he knew. _I just wanted to get back at them a little bit for being so awful. _"On that note, let me just say how glad I am to have been here tonight to witness the example you all set firsthand. I'm so glad, in fact," he grinned, fighting to keep it from moving into a full-blown smirk of triumph as he designed the perfect underhanded 'fuck you' to all of the people who had denigrated Dick that evening, "that I'm going to be matching the total raised from this event with funds from my personal accounts. This city needs assistance in _all_ of her corners," he stressed, "and I intend to do what little I can. Thank you. Gretchen?" Turning, he handed the giant banknote off to the open-mouthed woman. Then he walked back to his seat, pretending to be oblivious to the fervor of hissed whispers rolling through the seated attendees.

"…Bruce?" Dick gave him a curious look when he sat down.

_He obviously gathered that I said something just now upset a lot of people,_ the billionaire decided, _but I'm betting he doesn't understand why, or what part. How could he, not coming from a family where the amount of money one throws around establishes one's worth to the extent it does to these miserable bastards? _"We'll talk in the car, kiddo," he told him. "…For now, eat your dessert."

As soon as he said the word, a plate bearing a sliver of Alfred's best yellow cake was delivered to each of them. Unable to argue with what he knew would be a delicious follow-up to the speech that had, for some strange reason, made him feel a little better, Dick just shrugged and began to eat.

His improved mood lasted for all of ten minutes. Finishing before almost anyone else in the room, the boy leaned over to whisper that he needed the restroom. Bruce gave him directions, followed by the galvanizing news that they would head out as soon as he returned. With escape finally glimmering on the horizon, he promised to hurry back, and then hustled along the route he'd been instructed in as fast as he thought he could get away with without drawing distasteful looks.

He'd thought he might find himself alone in the bathroom, since dessert had still been being passed out to the last of the donors when he'd left the gallery. Two stalls were closed when he padded in almost silently, however, and despite his best efforts he couldn't help but overhear what was being said between the men occupying them.

"…I thought Wayne would take the kid up on stage with him," the first opined.

The second snorted. "Why _would_ he? You watch, this is a passing whim. Bruce Wayne is too much of a loose cannon for it to be anything more than that. I give it six months, at _most_, before that kid lands back in an orphanage, or gets shipped off to boarding school or something. And that's if CPS even lets him keep him that long."

"…I don't know, he seemed pretty pissed about some of the stuff that was being said during the opening hour. Weirdly pissed. I don't remember him ever giving a speech like that before tonight."

"What, did that idiotic gesture with doubling the take tonight _bother_ you? Because you _sound_ bothered."

"It didn't _bother_ me, it just…well, a lot of people weren't exactly biting their tongues earlier about his kid; then he slips in that line about finding 'the beast' that the Foundation is fighting again in places you don't expect, and matches the combined money that all the rest of us gave straight from his personal funds? I took it as him saying he's a bigger man than the rest of us because he took in some poor orphan and _doesn't_ talk down about him."

"He's the _richer_ man, maybe. No one in their right mind would call that booze-swilling skirt chaser the bigger man against ninety percent of the people in the crowd tonight, _including_ the women. He was just showing off. Besides, it's _his_ charity, he _should_ give more to it."

"Yeah, but…aw, hell, Chas, I don't know. Maybe you're right. I'm probably giving him too much credit. It just seemed for a second like maybe there was something more to him than what we usually see."

Torn between bursting into tears and leaping to the billionaire's defense – _he __is__ the bigger man, you have no idea! – _Dick flushed the urinal, announcing his presence. _They can't have known there was anyone in here with them. If they'd heard me come in, they would have thought it might be him, surely, or would have at least peeked between the cracks and seen that it was me. It would be stupid to talk like that when I might report it back to Bruce._

"Who's out there?!" was demanded wildly.

"_Shit!"_

Already to the door, he paused. _…It might scare them if they knew it was me who heard them,_ he realized. _…But leaving them with the not knowing would almost be worse. _He warred with himself for a second, not wanting to stoop to their level of cruelty but also irritated by the general assumption of the wealthy people present tonight that it was okay to be mean just because they had money and he didn't. _…Grown-ups should know better,_ he decided finally. _It wasn't just one or two of them, either. That's…that's just wrong._ He exited without voicing a word.

He didn't go far, however. As soon as he found himself alone in the hallway, his victory high faded, leaving him as confused and upset as he had been when the men were talking. _…Was that wrong of me, though, leaving them like that? Crud. I don't know…_ He had to assume that they would be out in a minute, though, and the last thing he wanted was for them to encounter him anywhere near the bathroom. The problem was that he couldn't face Bruce as he was right now. _I'll start crying, I know I will, and it could get him in trouble, or make people think more bad things about me…_

Glancing around, he spotted a staircase with a closed railing that would hide him easily if he sat on the steps. _…I don't think anyone will try and go up them, at least not for a while,_ he determined. _And those guys will probably figure that whoever it was went back to their table, so…yeah._

Once he was seated, his position well-hidden by the solid banister, the tears came heavily. _Boarding school…orphanage…six months…_ He dwelled on a dozen different things he'd heard said over the past few hours, all of them falling squarely into the category of rejection. _I know he's just acting the way he always acts for them, but…they've known him for so much longer than I have. What if they're right? And even if they aren't, what if CPS takes me away? I know Bruce said he wouldn't let them, and he has a lot of money, but…they're like the police. They could __make__ him give me back, and then…_ He shuddered. _The Center, maybe. Even if she didn't put me there, I…I wouldn't be with Bruce anymore. It wouldn't matter where they put me, I still wouldn't be happy. Not without him to talk to. He understands._

"...Whoa, hey, chum," the billionaire's soft voice broke into his misery. "Did something happen? You were gone a little while."

His breath hitched as he wiped his eyes. "…Are we alone?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I passed a couple of guys on their way back out to the tables, but no one else." Glancing at the hall just to be certain, he came up a couple of steps and sat. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"…Not here," he shook his head. "Someone will hear." _They'll hear, and they'll make fun of me, or of you._

"There's no one _to_ hear, kiddo."

"They'll hear anyway. They're sneaky like that," he mumbled flatly.

"Heh," Bruce half-chuckled. "You're right. Their ears definitely have a finesse that their tongues lack. Well, then," he suggested, "why don't we go home, instead? You can tell me in the car, or when we get back."

"…Won't you get in trouble if you leave early? I don't want to get you in trouble," Dick said. _I've gotten you in enough trouble with them just by being here. Just…just by existing._

"I've done the important part. Things are winding down; a few people have already left. Besides, if you're worried about what people will say," he gave him a knowing look, "they'll talk about how late I kept you out if we don't go soon. There's _always_ something for them to talk about, no matter how hard you try to be perfect around them. Hell, even if you managed to _be_ perfect they'd complain that you thought you were better than everyone else. I should have warned you about that."

"It's okay. I think I was kind of starting to figure it out, anyway." He sighed. "Everything seems so much harder since…" he trailed off. "You know." _Since they died. Since they were killed._ His earlier question reoccurred, and he held it back for a second time. _…Is Batman going to Newtown tonight?_

"…Yeah," he nodded. "I know. But Dick?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You're not alone. Remember that."

A tiny, tired smile picked up the corners of his lips slightly. "I know," he murmured.

"Good. Now…should we get out of here?"

"You don't have to say goodbye to anyone, do you? Because…well, I'd kind of rather wait here if you do."

_I can't say I blame you for that._ "No. I'm not saying goodbye to anyone. They'll live without another hour of insults." He looked over the railing, then back at the boy. "…Coast is clear," he winked. "No nasty socialites, although we'll probably have to dodge paparazzi at the door."

"…That's okay," he said slowly. "At least they keep their opinions to themselves." He stood up. "Did I do okay tonight?" _Does Robin get his costume,_ hung unasked between them.

"You did great, Dicky," he assured him, reading both the question and the uncertainty in his eyes. "Even if most of these idiots didn't see it." He paused. "You were a thousand times over the only person in the room I really wanted to be around," he said quietly.

His smile grew a bit. "Really?"

"Really."

"…Let's get out of here."

"Done."

**Author's Note: In my head, I seriously pictured Bruce literally dropping the mic and walking away after that speech, haha. **


	54. Chapter 54

"…Bruce?" Dick asked once they'd dodged the majority of the paparazzi and were accelerating down the street.

The billionaire steeled himself for any of the dozen questions that he expected the boy to have after the disastrous evening they'd just spent. "Hmm?"

"Why were those people so _mean_?"

He sighed. _You would have to ask the toughest one right out of the gate, wouldn't you?_ "There's no one reason, really. Some of them don't like the fact that you weren't born rich; others see my having taken you in as a barrier to themselves or a female relative becoming my wife someday. A few of them are just classist assholes, and most of them – even the ones who were nice and who don't carry the kinds of prejudices the others do – will never understand what reason I could possibly have for wanting to adopt you, other than as a ploy for greater social status."

"So…they just don't get it?"

"Right. They have no context for it, and many of them – especially the older ones who are from families that have had money for a long time – were raised to believe that they really are better than people who either aren't wealthy or haven't been for at least a hundred years." He paused. "You didn't think _everyone_ was mean, did you?" _I know that most of them were, but hopefully you didn't feel __completely__ disliked._

Dick thought back over the first hour they'd spent at the benefit. "Um…no. There were a few people who were okay, I guess. It's just that so many of them weren't nice at _all_ that I kind of forgot about the others."

"Yeah," he shot him a commiserating glance in the rearview mirror. "…Listen, kiddo, I…I want you to know that they made me angry, too. Ridgeworth, especially." His mouth tightened as he recalled the unkind statements the other man had blurted out purposefully in front of the boy. "I damn near decked him for saying what he did. I would have, except…"

"I know," the child nodded. "You had to stay in character."

"…You weren't upset that I didn't do anything?" he queried, a note of concern in his voice.

"I was at first, a little bit, but…I saw how mad you were with him," he disclosed. "And then when you didn't do anything, it reminded me that you _couldn't_. So…it's okay. Besides, I think you kind of got them all back when you gave your speech, didn't you?"

"The ones who understood it," the billionaire agreed. "Who, unfortunately, were mostly those who weren't as nasty to begin with." One eyebrow arched curiously. "…How did you figure out what I meant with what I said, and with the money I donated?" _I didn't think you'd be able to decipher it on your own. You don't have the background for it._

"Well…you remember those two guys you saw leaving the bathroom, right before you found me?"

"Yes. What about them?"

"They were talking in the stalls when I went in." He related the basics of the story, including what both men had said and his reaction when they demanded to know who had been listening. "…Was that wrong of me, Bruce? Should…should I have told them who I was?"

"I think it would have been about the same either way, Dicky. You didn't do anything wrong," he assured.

"…Was he right, though? Were you…were you trying to say that you're a better person than them by giving away all that money?"

"Yes and no. To many of the people who were especially rude to you, the amount of money one has is the only acceptable yard stick for measuring the worth of a human being. My saying what I did and then matching the donations that all of them together had contributed was about making them realize that the way they had treated you was completely out of line and unbecoming for _anyone,_ let alone members of Gotham's elite. By setting myself above them monetarily, I was trying to point out that I'm above them morally, too, at least in regards to how I interact with you."

"Do you think it will change anything?"

"…No. But it sure felt good."

"It made me feel better, too. I didn't know why right then, but…now I do." He smiled. "Thanks, Bruce."

_I wish I could have done more,_ he didn't say. "You bet, kiddo."

They were silent until the lights of the city had fallen behind them. "I have another question."

The billionaire had thought the boy was asleep, and startled slightly at the sound of his voice. "What's that?" he asked, recovering.

"Well…you said in your speech that you care about the city, right?"

"Right."

"And I _know_ that's true, because otherwise you wouldn't be Batman. Then you gave away all that money right afterwards. I know it was partly because you were getting back at them, but…you wanted to do it for other reasons, too, didn't you? You must give a lot of money to charity, right?"

"…I do," he nodded. _Where are you heading with this, Dick?_

"So…I think I get it now, Bruce. That money you gave out tonight…that was your way of buying things for the city. You buy the city things because…because you care, just like you said, and giving away money is the best way you can think of to show it without telling anyone that you're Batman. So…you buy the city things because you care, and you buy me things…" he trailed off hopefully.

"Because I care," the billionaire answered. "You've got it right, chum."

"…Wouldn't it be a lot cheaper to just _say_ you care?"

"Yes. But…it's not that easy to do that," he confessed. "At least…not for me."

"Oh." He seemed to mull something over. "…Does that mean that you're _not_ going to send me away to boarding school? Since you spent all that money on video games and the uneven bars and stuff?"

"Of course I'm not sending you away," he said vehemently, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he turned into the manor's long driveway. "I meant what I said to Mrs. Higgins, Dick. I like having you around. If anyone says something different, you tell them to say it to my face. Got it?"

"…Got it." There was one more thing he had to get off his chest before they pulled to a stop in front of the house. "Bruce…your charity does lot of good stuff, right?"

"Yes. It does."

"It's funny…you said it was just an act, you being 'Brucie,' but…the money's real, and the good it does, that's real too."

"_That's_ why I brought you to the banquet," the billionaire stressed. "Now you've seen that people without masks can do just as much good as those with them."

"But…Brucie _is_ a mask," the boy frowned. "I mean, everyone could see your face, but…the real you was hidden. And _they_ were all in masks, too, when they gave their money; the real people they are came out when they were talking about me. I get what you mean, but…maybe we all wear masks, even if we don't realize it or don't mean to?"

_Shit__. He's not wrong,_ Bruce's brow drew down. _I just didn't expect him to come to that conclusion so easily._ "…My point remains," he said firmly. "You don't have to wear a literal mask to do a lot of good in the world. Okay?"

"…Okay," he concurred, still puzzling over the question of literal versus metaphorical disguises. The vehicle slowed as they pulled up alongside the front steps, and he set the quandary aside for later in order to accompany Bruce inside.

Alfred immediately sensed that things had not gone as well as he might have hoped they would. "Good evenings, sirs," he greeted, his tone a bit less starched than usual. "How was your banquet?"

"…The cake was really good," Dick answered after an uncomfortable pause. "I'm glad _you_ made it."

The butler looked searchingly towards his elder charge, who merely gave a slight shake of his head to indicate that they would talk later. "…Well, Master Dick, I'm very pleased to hear that you enjoyed the dessert, at least. Now," he frowned, noting a bit of redness around the boy's eyes and wondering what could possibly have happened at a social function to make him cry, "do you think you can manage to get out of your tuxedo on your own, or do you require assistance?"

"I…" He trailed off, seeming to consider something, and then turned to his guardian. _I wonder if…and maybe…_ He simply couldn't hold the inquiry that had been bothering him all night back any longer. "…Is Batman going to Newtown tonight?"

The billionaire's fingers froze, entangled in his shoelaces. "Yes," he answered slowly. "Why?"

"Can…can I come with you? I know I don't have a costume yet," he went on in a rush, "but I could put something together really quick. Or I could even just sit in the car…"

"Dick, _no_," he said, suddenly exasperated. He wasn't truly angry at him, but on top of the general stress and annoyance that had been building up all evening the request was just enough to push him over the edge. _We've been over this how many times now? You're not stupid, chum, I know you aren't forgetting all the previous negative answers I've given you, or the deal we made about Robin having a costume. Why are you harping on this so hard?_

"Can I work the radio, then? Please?"

"…It's late," he ground out. "You need to go to bed." _I don't know what I'll find tonight. If I learn that Zucco is, in fact, the one who orchestrated things, I'll need to time to pin him down, and I don't want you getting too excited about it until I do. Besides, this thing about Robin going on patrol needs to stop. It's __not__ happening._

_It's inevitable,_ Batman rebutted. _He needs it the same way you do. You might as well give in now, before you hurt him. You're only going to make him feel worthless if you keep blocking him._

_He'll be hurt far worse if I let every mugger, murderer, and rapist in Gotham put him in their sights,_ Bruce yanked his feet from his shoes. _And tonight is __not__ the night for him to be potentially listening in. The answer is no._

"…Well, can I at least stay up long enough to-"

"Dick," he interrupted, his attitude rigid from arguing on two fronts. "Whatever you were going to suggest, you can do it tomorrow. Go get changed, and I'll be up to tuck you in in a minute."

"…That's not fair, though!" he burst out suddenly, his self-control shot after the abuse it had withstood that evening. "I mean…" his mouth worked as both adults stared at him, "I want to help you!"

"And I'm going to let you do so, but not tonight, and not on the streets. Right now you need to go upstairs, get changed, and get ready to be tucked in. I know it's not what you want to hear, Dick, but it's _way_ past your bedtime. So go, and I'll be up in a minute." The boy didn't move, instead crossing his arms and staring at him, tears standing in his eyes. "_Go_ on," he pressed.

"…They were _my_ parents, Bruce," he breathed unhappily. "…Even if you never let me help you again, don't you think I deserve to be a part of catching their killer?"

_Again, you're not wrong, but…_ "This isn't open for discussion," he told him flatly. "If you want to help me at all, either now or later, you need to learn to listen when I tell you to do something. Understood?"

At that, his shoulders slumped. "…Yes," he hiccupped, then turned away. _I did everything you wanted me to, though. I went to the fundraiser, and I was super good – you said so yourself, even! – but now you still won't let me help you. You said I could man the radio, so why are you sending me to bed now? __Especially__ when you're going to Newtown? That's not fair, Bruce. It's not fair because I want them caught more than you do. Why can't you understand that? You, out of everybody in the world…_

The men watched him mount the stairs and disappear into the upper hallway. A moment later a door was closed loudly, not really slammed but certainly not shut with a normal amount of force. Confused and more than a little upset by what had just occurred, the billionaire turned to Alfred. "…Where the hell did _that_ come from?" he queried frankly.

"…The fundraiser went rather horribly, didn't it?" the butler rejoined with a question of his own.

"That's an understatement." He launched into the full story, including some of the more unpleasant comments that had been made, and ended with how he'd found Dick on the stairs and what he'd learned about the two men in the bathroom. "…But he did so well all night, and then…that little explosion of his just now. I thought he'd be better once we got home. He was good in the car, even…this came out of nowhere. I don't understand…"

"For all of Master Dick's maturity, sir, you must remember that he is still a child," the Englishman counseled. "I say that not to excuse his behavior, but simply to offer a possible explanation. He's had a very long and emotionally charged day, which I would remind you came on the heels of a busy night yesterday that included a fair bit less sleep than he ought to have had. Besides that…well, to be honest, he has a point, does he not? About being a part of the capture of the person or people who were responsible for taking his parents from him?"

"He's _not_ going out on patrol."

"I agree. That would be terribly foolish, especially with no training whatsoever. However, he _did_ scale down his request after you refused to allow him to accompany you, did he not? Indeed, he was still willing to make a deal after you negated even his monitoring of the radio."

"He would have been up all night waiting for me to get back, Alfred."

"…Sir, I would wager he would have been asleep before you got hallway across Gotham. But it would have made him happy to have gotten to try."

_Goddamn it. _"Well then why didn't you _say_ something?!" he stormed, lashing out verbally as his frustration soared. "Now he's pissed off at me!"

"I said nothing for two reasons, Master Wayne," came back calmly. "First, I cannot step in and fix all of the little squabbles that you and he are certain to have over the course of your lives. It's important both for your relationship and for each of you as individuals to resolve your own conflicts whenever possible. Second, and more importantly, what just happened will have shifted your position in his mind somewhat, and I wouldn't dare usurp that place."

"…What do you mean, it 'shifted my position'?"

"You have acted as his friend, confidant, and advisor thus far; however, there had been no need for any sort of discipline up to this point. What just happened, and your response to it, moved you unquestionably from playing the role of companion to that of parent." He paused as a strange look of mingled joy and disappointment shot across the younger man's face. "I'm not implying that you can't still be his comrade and secret-keeper, sir; merely that you've added another level to your relationship. It's a good thing, I assure you."

_Parent. I know I told him I wasn't trying to take their place, and I'm not, but…I __would__ kind of like him to…I don't know…to think of me that way. At the same time, though, we were doing great before. I don't want him to pull away because my position has changed. _"…I know I was right, Alfred, but I still didn't like sending him off upstairs like that."

"I believe it was the proper solution. This way he has a few moments to calm down, as well as to prepare for bed. It also provides you with a minute to relax and realign your thoughts before you go up to see him. And you _must_ go up to see him; I know you aren't truly angry about this, especially now that you've had a bit to mull it over, but he'll draw all of the wrong conclusions if you skip your nightly bedtime duties."

"I wasn't going to try and skip it." _I want to talk to him. I want him to understand __why__ I can't let him out on patrol with Batman. I know I've told him already, but…he doesn't seem to be taking it seriously. I don't think he'd keep asking to go if he honestly didn't think my answer was going to change at some point._ "Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"How did you get so damn good at this?"

The butler chuckled. "Practice, Master Wayne. You'll get there. For now, however, you ought to go to him. He'll be waiting."

"Yeah," he rubbed his temples for a second, trying to stave off the headache that was forming behind his eyes. "I'm heading to Newtown afterwards. I'll probably be out later than usual."

"Very well. I'll expect to push breakfast back again in the morning, then."

"…Thanks, Alfred." With that, he traced the same path the boy had taken a few minutes before, up the stairs and down to his bedroom. Cognizant of the fact that he might not be pleased if he just barged in with no warning, he let his knuckles fall lightly against the door as he opened it. "…Dicky?" he ventured, hoping subconsciously that using the diminutive version of his name might soothe any remaining ire.

When there was no answer, he stepped fully inside, frowning. His heart ached as he found him already curled beneath the covers, both arms clutching at Elinor. _…Oh, kiddo, I'm sorry._ Drawing near, the damp spot on the pillow beneath his head became evident in the glow from the hall. _You cried yourself to sleep,_ he sagged down onto the edge of the mattress. Reaching out, he let his fingertips just barely brush his hair, pushing it away from the pointed little face that was still troubled-looking. _I should have come faster, but…I didn't think you'd be this quick about crawling into bed. I thought you'd wait to be tucked in…_

Sighing and vowing to check in on him once he returned from patrol, Bruce bent down and rested his forehead against the sleeping child's. "Good night, chum," he whispered. "We'll talk later. I'm not mad at you, I swear." When he pulled away, it seemed like a tad of the strain on the youth's visage had fled; his own, however, remained.

_Damn me,_ he cursed himself as he shut the door silently behind himself. _Damn me to hell._


	55. Chapter 55

Batman had no intentions of wasting what little time he had that night. _No more chasing goons for information,_ he grimaced as he threw open the file on Jasper Quindley and began to refresh himself as to its contents. _Tonight we go straight to the source._

Quindley was the longest-lived of Newtown's crime bosses, having been in place since Bruce himself was still a child. Initially he had controlled the city's flow of automatic weapons, selling them to the outlying farms that made methamphetamine to supplement their honest incomes as well as to larger syndicates in Gotham and Bludhaven. It appeared that he was still an important player in the regional arms market, but for some reason his territory, along with those of the three other known men who had survived the purges of the last two years, had shrunk drastically. _Who's cutting in on your operation, that's the question,_ the vigilante thought as he slammed the paperwork shut. _And it's a question that you're going to answer._

The drive took far less time in the Batmobile than it did in civilian ground transports for the simple reason that speed limits could be ignored. Thirty minutes after leaving the cave, Batman had secreted the vehicle in a dark alleyway and scaled the wall that surrounded Quindley's large home. The recent reduction in the criminal's power had manifested itself in the upkeep of the building, he noted; the lawn was overgrown, the paint was beginning to peel, and one window displayed a large crack, held together by electrical tape on the inside. _…Good signs,_ he grinned mirthlessly beneath the cowl. _The more your new competition is sapping you, the less reason you have to protect him._

There hadn't been any blueprints of the gangster's home available digitally, and as such he was working purely on instinct as he grappled his way up to a second-floor balcony. He ducked immediately when he found the curtains wide open, then dared to peek inside when no alarm was raised. _Convenient,_ he commented to himself as he spotted Quindley seated at a desk, his head bowed over a thick binder of documents. The only light in the room was the banker's lamp beside the gun runner, but after several minutes of watching Batman concluded that he was the only one lurking in the shadows. _Now, to just get inside without him seeing me…_

As if he'd been listening and was eager to oblige, the snowy-haired man rose stiffly and hobbled to a cabinet in the corner that opened to reveal a dry bar. His quest for refreshment put his back to the veranda, and while he mixed his drink the caped figure slipped into the room. There was just enough breeze to make it feasible for the wind to have caught the door, so Batman left it open a crack, hoping to draw his quarry closer as he crouched down behind a chair.

Only a few moments passed before a disgruntled harrumph disturbed the silence of the space. "Damned wind," was mumbled as a limping gait passed by to shut out the stench of fertilizer. "Damned dago. Damned city, all of it…" He froze suddenly, glass still in hand, as a gauntleted arm crossed his throat.

"Don't call out," he heard a growl in his ear. "And no alarms or weapons."

"…They said you were rooting around the other night. My men did," Quindley stated, seemingly undisturbed by the fact that he was being held hostage in his own home. "I'd like to make a proposal, Batman. A trade, so to speak."

"…I'm listening," he replied, cautious but curious.

"You want to know about the murders at the circus, don't you?" There was no answer. "It's the only thing that makes sense. It took place near Newtown, but on your side of the jurisdictional line; it's an unsolved case that the Gotham police department has given up on; and it was a completely uncalled-for crime. A true power-trip killing," he considered out loud.

"I'm here for information, yes," was all the dark-clad man gave out.

"I can give you what you want. I know who killed those performers, and I'm willing to share everything that you need to know. Other than a guarantee that any illegal actions of mine or my employees will not be held against us, legally speaking, I require that only one condition be met in exchange."

"That being?" _Although if he's really going to make it this easy on me, I can't think of much he could request that would make me object. _

"That you _ensure_ that he is locked up for the rest of his earthly days."

He could just imagine the look on Dick's face if the man who had taken his parents from him were to be released from jail in five, ten, or twenty years. _But that won't happen,_ he swore. _I won't let it. _"…That's my goal, Quindley. What I want to know is, why is it yours, too?"

"Release me so that we can discuss this like civilized people, and I'll tell you."

"Tell me so that I have reason to think you're going to act civilized, and I'll release you."

The crime lord sighed heavily. "My contacts in Gotham were right about you. You are a real _bastard_ to work with. But," he added, "seeing as how you are in a position to do me a very large favor, I'll put up with it, even in my own house. You're very lucky that you're so useful to me; usually I have trespassers shot."

"Talk, Quindley," he tightened his arm slightly.

"…All right, all right. The person responsible for the deaths you're investigating is the same man who has my finances in such a tangle that I'm facing bankruptcy. I never thought I'd see the day when creditors actually _dared_ to call my house to demand payment; it isn't a pleasant feeing, let me tell you. I'm disgusted by it, and I'm even more sickened when I think of how I've been giving that upstart little prick a cut of my money. _My_ money, Batman," he stressed. "I won't put up with it any longer, not if all that I have to do to rid myself of him is make a deal with a do-gooder."

_The Graysons' killer in exchange for restoring a semblance of the old criminal power balance in Newtown,_ he scowled. Distaste didn't even begin to describe how he felt about such a proposal, but…_ This isn't my city, and if nothing else a return to the days before this guy came along should keep the Newtown bosses too busy reestablishing their hierarchy to even think about expanding into Gotham for the next few years. That's one less direction I have to watch as hard, and there are plenty of other things I can apply that time and energy to. _Making his decision, he let go of the older man and pushed him a step away, watching closely in case he tried anything. "…Tell me what you know."

"May I sit?"

"…There," he jabbed a gloved finger towards the chair he'd hidden behind upon coming into the room.

"I have no alarm system under the desk," Quindley informed him as he took his assigned seat. "Although I do keep a weapon there." He sipped his drink. "I assume you're wondering why I'm telling you that?"

Silence reigned as Batman stared at him.

"…Of course you are. To tell the truth, no one has snuck up on me successfully in fifteen years. You, though…you caught me off guard. I'm impressed and, quite frankly, amazed that any of my associates in Gotham are still in operation. But then I suppose it's possible that they're better acquainted with your methods, and more wary of them as a result. In any case, that isn't why we've struck a deal, so I'll return to the main point.

"The man you're looking for," he revealed slowly, "is an underhanded shyster named Anthony Zucco. He goes by Tony, and along with his brother Ralph he runs the factory complex that makes Newtown such a delightful olfactory experience."

…_So it __was__ Zucco,_ his brows drew together under his headgear. _Well…that's good. It's good to know for sure who I'm after._ He believed that the person before him was telling the truth, but he needed more than just the word of a gangster to go on. "Convince me."

"Ah, conviction. A tricky word, that," he crossed his legs. "I'm afraid doing so will involve a bit of a lesson in current events." He paused, waiting for confirmation that his visitor wanted details.

"…Well?"

"All right, then. Three years ago, at the beginnings of this lovely little recession we still seem to be mired in, depending of course on your choice of news agency, there was a rather ugly labor dispute involving the workers at the fertilizer plant. They, feeling like they deserved better pay, benefits, et cetera, resolved to form a union. The ringleader of this attempt," he smiled, "was a man who was employed in his off-hours by me. You see, no one has ever been able to hold the section of town that the plant sits in, nor the adjacent rail lines, for more than a few months at a time. Over the past decade the battle had more or less been between myself and Curtis Schilling, who operated over in the commercial district. Prostitution, mostly, and a bit of drugs. Schilling died…unexpectedly," his teeth shone in the semi-dark, leaving no question as to who had orchestrated his demise, "and I made my move to consolidate control.

"Since the factory is a major economic force in that sector of town, I was naturally interested in bringing it into line with the rest of my operations. The brothers Zucco had inherited it some eighteen months before Schilling's death, and at that point they seemed to be generally law-abiding men who were simply trying to figure out the fertilizer business. I placed a spy amongst their ranks with the idea of either enlisting them to my cause or, failing that, creating so much trouble for them that they deemed manufacturing in Newtown too risky an endeavor and agreed to sell to me for a cut-rate price.

"My man didn't take long to begin reporting that not all was as it appeared in regards to those seemingly green owners. He disclosed that Tony, in particular, seemed to frequently have rather odd visitors from out-of-town, swarthy men who didn't speak when they were on the factory floor and who had a sinister air about them. Then, local workers started being transitioned from the night shift to days, and their places were filled by people who called themselves 'friends' of Zucco, many of them new arrivals to the area who had come specifically for a job making fertilizer.

"At the time that wasn't so terribly difficult to write off as coincidence. The brothers had, after all, run a dyeing plant out in the Midwest before they received title to the factory; there was no reason to think that they might not just be consolidating their interests by inviting their best people east with them. It was a little troublesome, but I wrote it off. Only when my informant began to suggest that there were illegal shipments leaving the factory during the dark hours did I decide that it was time to act.

"I ordered my men – there were several in place by that time, all well-known and liked by their workmates – to begin making motions towards the formation of a union. This was a tactic I'd used in the past to bring businesses under my umbrella. The workers start their lobby, the owners, whose profit margins are at stake, panic, and a suggestion is made that I might be able to help them with their problem. I had no reason to think that this strategy would be unsuccessful, given that it had succeeded so many times in the past.

"So, my good little worker bees incited protest. All seemed to go well for a short time…until my men vanished into thin air, all within the same twenty-four hour period. That, I thought, would be the end of it; the government would have to get involved, since it was only the ringleaders of the unionization movement that were missing and they are so _very_ picky about things like that in this country. The Zuccos would either give up and turn to me for help, or would quit the factory altogether, putting them right back on track with my original plan in either case. Then, just when I was expecting the tide to turn in my favor, all of those who had disappeared returned to work at the plant. Their excuse was that they had been on a secret conference retreat with Tony, who had indeed also been incommunicado the weekend prior. The result was a slight raise in pay and improved benefits…but no union. The workers were satisfied with that, but more importantly for me, my people had all been turned; from that moment on, they worked for Zucco."

"How did he turn them?" Batman asked, fearing some sort of mind-control drug or brainwashing.

"Simple greed, in all four cases, if you can believe it. He offered them more money than I ever would have for their complicity. You see, Batman, I made a very fatal error; I allowed myself to believe that the dyeing facility they ran prior to coming here was the _only_ facility they had ever been associated with. It was a reasonable enough assumption, since they'd held it for two decades, but it was a falsehood, a smoke screen set up specifically to keep not only the competition but also the federal investigators flummoxed." He shook his head. "I'd become too confident. There was a time when I would have chased their pasts until I learned without being told that while the Midwestern operation _was_ their very first it was far from their only. Newtown is their eighth base of operations, and what they're doing here and, I'm sure, were doing in other locations previously is so distasteful that not even an old crook like myself can abide it."

"That being?" _The arms dealer is turned off by their crimes. That's usually not a good sign._

"I wondered that myself. I didn't assign the task of bringing the factory under my control to greenhorns, you know; my four turncoats were made men, very well paid by me and very well protected. No dyer, fertilizer maker, or combination thereof could possibly be making enough money to bribe them, at least not so long as their enterprises remained strictly legal. So how on earth, I puzzled, had these seemingly amateur factory owners had either the wherewithal or the means to steal my employees from me. To be fair, I _do_ imagine that there was some level of intimidation in play, but cash and favors certainly exchanged hands as well. It was only when I learned what _exactly_ goes on during the night shifts that I began to understand how the events of the past two years came to pass."

He took a long drink before continuing. "…Tony and Ralph Zucco – mostly Tony, Ralph seems to be a silent partner for security's sake – are and have been for many years illicit suppliers of raw and dangerous manufacturing chemicals. That is why they have always run the sorts of plants where such things can be legally attained in mass quantities and then written off as being used in legitimate processes. Every time the authorities seem to be closing in, they close up shop and move to a new location where they are unknown. Newtown Fertilizer Systems, Inc., _does_ still turn out its stated product, but only during the daylight hours. The rest of the time, Zucco's staff is far too busy repackaging volatile substances to be bothered with the proper nitrate levels for growing beans. Farmers are _not_ their most lucrative clients; drug manufacturers and domestic and foreign terrorists fill that position. If someone has a questionable reason for wanting a large amount of certain controlled liquids," Quindley concluded slowly, rolling his now-empty glass between his hands, "the odds are _very_ good that they're going to buy from the Zuccos."

**Author's Note: My goal with Zucco in this story is to give him a more modern edge. So far as I'm aware there's nothing in canon tying him to terrorism, but it seemed like a fun little twist to explore. Quindley has more to spill in tomorrow's chapter! Happy reading!**


	56. Chapter 56

_So Zucco thwarted Quindley's attempt to take over his factory and turned his operatives against him, managing both things because he's been moving dangerous chemicals to shady people and organizations for twenty years,_ Batman reviewed in the brief silence that followed the Newtown crime boss' bombshell. _But where does the reduction in the power of or the outright disappearance of Quindley's old competitors come in? And Haly's Circus…what does that have to do with the Zucco operation?_ "Keep going," he ordered.

"…Would you mind terribly if I refreshed my drink? All of this talk is rather thirsty work, and we've a ways to go as of yet." When no reply was forthcoming, he countered the dark figure's stony look with a mildly disappointed one. "Come, now, you don't honestly think that I would tell you all of that only to try and kill you or have you captured by the few men I have left? That would be as stupid as it would be suicidal. Prison is not a place I've any interest in going; that's why I've worked so hard to stay out of it all these years."

_He could be bluffing, but…he's one man. Even if he has a machine gun hidden in that bar, the odds of him managing to hit me with it before I disarm him or escape are virtually nil._ "…Hurry up," he allowed finally.

"Thank you," he nodded, standing with some effort and retreating to the corner cabinet again. "I don't blame you for your hesitation, you know. I think it's admirable. Young people today are too trusting, in my opinion, and yet they've no real concept of loyalty. It's very odd." He turned back. "There. As you can see," he held up his hands, one clutched firmly around his refilled beverage, "nothing up my sleeves."

"Good. Now keep going."

"Of course," Quindley answered as he re-seated himself. "Well, as I explained a moment ago my attempt to bring the fertilizer factory into my zone of control went abysmally. That in and of itself was bad enough. Unfortunately it also gave Tony Zucco ideas and made him do things that he had not done at any of his and Ralph's previous locations. Suddenly, merely controlling the plant wasn't enough for him; he wanted a bigger cut of town. I imagine that his victory was at least part of what galvanized him into thinking that he could achieve such a thing – I was, after all, the dominant extralegal force in Newtown at that time, and he had outfoxed me – but it may also have been a previously unrealized dream from before that. I don't know.

"What I _do_ know is that he was no fool in the way he went about his little scheme. Word got around quickly about the four men who had abandoned me. The fact that two of them in particular were hardened veterans who had served me for years, the sort of men who weren't likely to flip unless they'd reason to believe that they were moving to a much stronger employer, did nothing good for my reputation. Zucco's name, on the other hand, inflated with meaning. When he began to make buyout offers to the independent operators, those with little businesses in money laundering, counterfeiting, and the like, they gave in almost unanimously. The few who held out no longer live in Newtown; most of them are no longer living at all, in fact. That, naturally, put everyone on high alert, but all-out war never came.

"Instead, our opponent's method was rather like the acids he is so fond of using when dealing with his enemies; corrosive and painful," he made a face. "Concerns on the edges of the smaller territories, in particular, began to change sides even when enforcement patrols were beefed up. Several of the more minor-league bosses went under almost overnight, either allowing themselves to be absorbed into Zucco's exploding empire or simply…disappearing. They, unlike my former employees, did not come back.

"Before long it was businesses on the fringes of my neighborhoods and those of my three largest competitors that were changing allegiance. We tried everything to hold onto them: intimidation, bribery, guilt, promises, promotions. None of it worked. Had it been known what was being moved out of the factory on the night trains, I think many would have stuck it out with their original controllers. I believed that so much that I invested special efforts into a campaign that called Zucco out for the distastefulness of his chosen market. Guns are one thing," he opined, "but at least with my merchandise you have to see your target in order to kill it. Even targeted bombs, for instance on cars and the like, I don't find so very uncouth, but those are not the sorts of explosives that Zucco's clients tend to be interested in making. Regardless, the ploy failed, since anyone who was convinced enough by it to resist ended up dead or suddenly needing to move out of town permanently in order to take care of 'family concerns.'" He shook his head. "I can hardly hold their sense of self-preservation against them, but really, you'd think they'd have a bit more faith in me than that.

"Now, working together was not something that the four of us – myself, Roberts from the south side, Davis from the north, and Cavalho, who took over Schilling's zone – have ever been very good at. Between the loss of the small operators and the infringement against our own territories that Zucco was enacting, however, we had no choice but to try. Each one of us had made the same attempts to halt his advance, up to and including trying for his life, but the man is a steamroller; he simply carried on as if nothing of note had happened, even when we _did_ manage to set him back a bit. Another assassination attempt was concocted; a squad of four, made up of one man from each of our memberships, was to close in on Zucco while he ate in his favorite restaurant. All four were to fire into him simultaneously, eliminating the possibility that he might somehow slip away.

"It fell apart, of course," he sighed once more. "I've never been able to verify who squealed, but when the appointed night came the target's reservation was suddenly canceled. All four hitmen were murdered on their way home that evening or, in one case, in their bed. That was enough for Cavalho; he went to the factory in broad daylight the next morning and cut a deal. In the days that followed, the rest of us were approached with a proposal, which we all took. Davis and Cavalho accepted it because they're too weak of men to stand against him, but Roberts and I said yes only because it gave us a way to survive until we can retake our proper territories.

"In the meantime, we've been allowed the dubious honor of keeping the hearts of our respective zones and running them as per normal, with the caveats that fifty percent of all profits are funneled directly to 'Boss' Zucco – a title he picked out for himself, I might add – and that our activities must not interfere with his own projects. But with you in play," he smirked, "I imagine our subservience is nearing its end. What four men with vast resources couldn't do, perhaps a single man with nothing more than a utility belt can manage."

"…I won't be managing anything for you unless you give me a reason to think Zucco was behind the Grayson murder," the cowled man stated flatly. "This isn't my city. I don't care who rules who, so long as it doesn't bleed into Gotham."

"Ah, yes, those poor, innocent souls. Well, to begin with the obvious, it cannot possibly have been myself or one of the other three who ordered the crime, since we are strictly prohibited from operating outside of our designated areas. Unless one of us has a suicide wish, we're ruled out. That only leaves Zucco himself. He has the power," he held up one finger, "and he has the method," another joined it. "The man deals in dangerous chemicals, and my understanding is that the wires were corroded, correct? What else do you need?"

"Motive would be nice," Batman sneered.

"Hmm…I'm afraid I don't have any certain information for you on that, other than suggesting that he might have wanted them to move items for him. It could have been purely a protection racket, even, especially if he didn't realize that they weren't technically inside of Newtown. I don't think he intended to cross the line, but frankly he's still a bit of a newcomer; it wouldn't shock me if he just misread the map. But I _can_ tell you this much; the day that the Gotham police dropped the case, Zucco strutted around the factory like an absolute peacock. I've only managed to get a man into the day shift, or I might have a better clue, but when he was asked why he was in such high spirits he simply said that a potentially troublesome matter had resolved itself unexpectedly."

"Mm." _He has an entire train yard at his disposal, and circuses aren't exactly known for either traveling fast or for requiring dangerous chemicals to operate,_ he mused. _He can't reasonably have been hoping to use them to move his products. As for protection money, what was the value in threatening Haly, who was only going to be in town a few days a year anyway? _He thought back over what the circus director had told the police, which unfortunately was heavy on the threatening attitude of the men who had come to visit and light on details as to what they were demanding in order to prevent said threats from coming true. _If Dick had just heard more of the conversation…damn. _"…If I can establish for a fact that Zucco is responsible for the Graysons' deaths," he said finally, "you'll get your wish."

"I'll be watching for it, then," Quindley nodded. "I don't imagine that it will take you long to get what you need; they say that you're very good, and I suppose they must be right. After all, you had the brains to come straight to me, and the skill to do so covertly. You're a very rare sort of person, I think, Batman." His hands came together in light applause, the motion causing the liquid in his glass to slosh gently. "Bravo. And," he added as the other man turned to leave the way he'd come, "…best of luck."

…_Best of luck,_ the vigilante scoffed mentally once he was back in the car. _You'd better just hope that I find a matching nitric acid sample tonight. Without more than the history lesson and suppositions that you just gave me, I can't lay a finger on Zucco._ For all that he had no hard evidence to show for the hour he'd spent listening to the old man, however, he wouldn't go so far as to deem it time lost; on the contrary, the lecture had oriented him, bringing him up to speed on what had been happening in Newtown while he hadn't been paying attention. Feeling better informed and with a clear goal in mind, he readied himself for the next step.

He punched a button on the dash, and the touchscreen that normally appeared to be wired into the car popped out. Removing the tablet from its dock, he ran a quick search for blueprints of the fertilizer complex, zeroing in on a set of large outbuildings that stood between the main building and the railroad tracks. _…It can't be legal for them to store the kinds of raw materials he's dealing in under the same roof as the main work areas,_ he decided. _The danger of fire or explosion alone…no, they must keep it locked up separately. That's got to be my target, then._ Satisfied, he set a waypoint a quarter mile on the wrong side of the train lines and let the vehicle autopilot itself, not wanting to risk driving manually at his usual speeds in an unknown town.

The factory's loading depot appeared deserted when he scanned it through the windshield. _No shipments tonight, maybe,_ his mouth tightened, his eyes staying riveted to his binoculars. _…Or it already went out. In which case, the warehouses might be empty._ Still, he had to check. _If nothing else, I should at least be able to determine whether or not I'm in the right area. _

He couldn't risk being seen by either men or security cameras at this point in his proceedings, and as such he used extreme caution as he approached through the previous fall's flattened grass. Everything was drier here than in Gotham, and not even his master-level stealth skills were sufficient to completely avoid a slight rustling underfoot. _…Where's Clark when I need him for a lift_? He loathed the rare instances when necessity dictated that the Kryptonian carry him over some inconvenience, but the other man's capacity for flight _did_ make the job easier from time to time. _Hopefully Zucco's 'friends' are all deaf,_ he cursed, the dead groundcover seeming unbearably loud to his hyper-critical ears. _If not, they'll have already raised the alarm._

Despite his certainty that discovery was imminent, he made it across the tracks and up to the barbed wire-crowned fence that blocked the factory from the surrounding lots. He followed it in a low crouch until he reached the loading platform, then fired a grapple onto the peaked roof. Safely on top, he peered over the edge at the myriad of structures. _…There are the warehouses,_ he noted. _No cameras in sight. That doesn't seem right, at least not for someone with Zucco's sort of business. He's had plenty of time to have a security system installed, so where is it?_

He searched for nearly a quarter hour, _certain_ that there had to be measures in place other than the very few armed guards he saw patrolling, but turned up nothing. Eventually he decided that he didn't have any more time to waste, and advanced slowly, operating under the assumption that there were lenses he just couldn't see placed about. Avoiding the most likely places for hidden cameras and sticking to only the very darkest shadows, he progressed with painstaking caution. Timing the sentries, he swiftly picked the lock on the first outbuilding he came to and slipped inside.

No voices were raised upon his entry, and after a moment of silence he relaxed. Switching his binoculars to their night vision setting and removing the magnification chambers, he swept through the space, peering at labels. _Formaldehyde and methylene urea,_ he grimaced when he reached the far wall. _Wrong building. But at least I know this is where they're keeping everything…_

It wasn't until building three that he found was he was looking for. _Nitric acid,_ he confronted several rows of 55 gallon drums. _Although…there were impurities in the sample I took from the wires. Did those come from the lines themselves, or was the acid mixed with other ingredients before it was applied? And if so, are these containers already mixed, or are they the original raw material?_ The only way to tell for sure would be to take sample from every single barrel, but that wasn't feasible. _…Damn it._

Deciding that his best bet would be to draw a vial from one of the vessels in the middle of the nitric section, he moved back through the stacks. Halfway down he stopped, frowning. _…Some of these have been opened already,_ he realized. _They're resealed. It's a good job, they look almost like new, but these __must__ be the mixed barrels. _He couldn't fathom why Zucco would want to spike his resale products, but the reason didn't matter at the moment; right then, all he cared about was that he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

It took only a few minutes to fill two small glass tubes, one with what he suspected was the modified product and another with liquid from a barrel whose seal had been previously undisturbed. He regretted that he had no way to disguise the fact that the lids had been tampered with, but there was little that he could do besides hope that whoever encountered them next would be in too much of a rush to notice. In either case, he had what he'd come for, and he made his escape from the complex without further delay.

In the Batmobile once more, the hand that was unoccupied with retracing the roads between Newtown and Gotham came to rest on the hard-sided pouch that cradled the samples. _…This could be our answer, Dick,_ he thought. _My__ answer. For all that I think Robin will talk his way into the field sooner rather than later, this is __not__ the case for you to debut on. Zucco is more than just the two-bit extortionist I initially thought he might be; any man who has managed to sell wholesale chemicals to terrorists for two decades has to be approached with extreme care, and this case is far too personal for you to exercise the necessary restraint. I know you may resent me for it in the future, and I'll understand if you do, but…you __cannot__ have a direct hand in capturing your parents' killer. Properly trained and guided, Robin should prove a useful companion, but not until after I've put this man behind bars. Assuming, of course,_ he added to himself, _that I can prove he did it at all. Otherwise, you may linger in the cave much longer than you'd like. _

As soon as the cowl came off back home, Bruce slumped in exhaustion. _Bed,_ he groaned to himself, barely rustling the energy to put his armor away. _I'll run the tests tomorrow, I'd probably spill that shit on myself right now. Thank god it's Sunday, I can sleep in…have a late breakfast…make up with kiddo…_ He hesitated halfway up the stairs to the house. _I wonder if he went into my room yet, or if he's going to give me a cold shoulder. I don't know that he could manage to stay away if he had a nightmare, though…_

His relief at not finding the boy in the hall turned into hurt when he didn't discover him inside the master suite, either. _I know you're mad at me, chum, but I wouldn't have been as rough as I was if it wasn't important that you do as I tell you to in this instance. You don't understand how easy it would be for you to be badly hurt, or…or worse,_ he gulped, _out there. There are terrible things in this world, Dick, and you've already seen far more of them than you could possibly deserve._

Eyelids half-shut, he dragged himself across the corridor and pushed open the child's door. _…There you are,_ a tired little smile tugged the corners of his lips skyward. _Safe and sound. Good. Maybe…maybe you just didn't come looking for me because you haven't had any bad dreams,_ he thought wishfully. As little as he wanted the youth to suffer with further night terrors, something in him whimpered at the idea of no longer waking up to find the warm little figure plastered against him and in need of comfort. _…It's better this way, I guess,_ he sighed, retreating after several long minutes in order to climb beneath his own regrettably cold covers. _It gives CPS less to work with, and it could be a sign that he's beginning to heal. I would take either of those things by themselves; to think that maybe both are occurring is almost __too__ optimistic. _With that thought lingering in his head, he let the darkness carry him away.

**Author's Note: Fluffy make-up cuddles tomorrow!**


	57. Chapter 57

Two hours later, Alfred woke him with a level of insistence that Bruce had never before experienced from the butler's hands. "Master Wayne, you must get up this instant," broke through his dreamless sleep as a hand risked injury by reaching out and shaking him unceasingly.

"What…Alfred. What is it?" he asked with a trace of annoyance.

"The boy has gone, sir."

"…Huh?" he peered at him, confused. _That's…that's impossible. I just checked on him, he was asleep…_

"Master Dick has vanished," the Englishman repeated urgently. "He left you this."

Still only half-conscious at best, the billionaire sat up and took the paper he was being offered. "Bruce, I know you're going to be super mad, but I'm going to Newtown," he read out loud slowly. "To catch Zucco. I just _know_ it was him, and if you won't let me help you I'll do it by myself. I owe mom and dad. Sorry. Love, Dick." He shook his head, wiped the sleep out of his eyes, and started back at the beginning. This time the meaning of the words sank in, and he flew from the bed. "He can't have gone very far, he has no way to get anywhere."

"What about the car, sir? It will have your last route programmed in still, unless you cleared it."

"He doesn't have access to it," he shook his head as he threw on the clothes he'd left in a pile beside the bed some hundred and twenty minutes before. "And he knows better than to try. I warned him that he'll get a nasty shock if he does. Did you check the house already?"

"No, but given his stated purpose I rather doubt that he's still inside."

"…Right. Okay," he thought rapidly. "…Let's grab radios from the cave, then split up. You drive towards the gate to see if he went that direction, and I'll head towards where Anaxas knocked the tree down on the fence. That hasn't been fixed yet, has it?"

"No," the butler answered tightly, lines of concern marring his forehead as they hustled towards the staircase. "The workers are scheduled to come out today for that very purpose. But surely he wouldn't take that route, would he? He doesn't know the property."

"No, he doesn't, but he _does_ know that the pond is between the house and the hole in the perimeter, since that's where he first sensed Anaxas the other night," he reminded the older man as they all but ran down into the cave. "He's smart enough to know that we'll check the roads first thing. If he pays attention to his surroundings, he should be able to track which direction the house is pointing and walk that way until he hits the fence. Then all he has to do is follow it to the damaged section."

"…That would require a rather great leap of logic, not to mention advanced orienteering skills, for one so young," Alfred opined skeptically as he accepted a radio. "…Channel, sir?"

"Two. And I agree, but if any nine-year-old could make that leap…"

"It would have to be the young master," the butler sighed. "Very well. Better to check all of our possibilities, I suppose."

They parted ways at the front door, the Englishman moving towards the garage while Bruce set off at a lope across the lawn. As soon as he hit the trail he had taken with the boy just a couple of evenings earlier, he began to search for evidence of his passage. _A footprint, something you dropped, __anything__, kiddo,_ he begged, scanning the ground in the early morning light. _You __can't__ take on the man who managed to bring all of Newtown under his control by yourself and with no training. You don't even have a costume…would you have thought to put on a mask with whatever it is you're wearing? No, how could you?_ he semi-chastised himself immediately. _I haven't shown you how to do that. Even if you used spirit gum back at the circus, why would you risk going down to the cave to try and find some when your intent was to sneak out without a costume anyway? Shit. If I had just let you run the radio for a while last night, or woken you up to tell you what I learned about Zucco, maybe I could have prevented this. Just let me find you, please, __please__ don't somehow get to him before I do…_

The pond showed no signs of life until he circled around to the far end. There, finally, he found a fresh, clear track. _Headed in the wrong direction for the fence,_ he noted. As pleased as he was to find an indication that Dick was still somewhere on the property, he couldn't help but feel a little let down that the child hadn't managed to get his bearings better. _…Why am I complaining about that?_ he shook his head. _Lost in the woods is much better than on his way to Newtown. _He was raising his radio to his lips to let Alfred know about his discovery when the nagging that had been in the back of his mind since he first saw the footprint explained itself. _…It's a boot mark,_ his eyes widened. _ But…Dick doesn't __have__ any boots, and even if he did, that's much too large to have come from anything he could possibly wear…_

A keening wail tore through the forest suddenly, carrying in its tones so much agony and despair that the billionaire felt his knees go weak. _…That wasn't an adult, _he dreaded as he stumbled towards the source of the sound at a dead run. A hundred reasons for the boy – _his_ boy – to have released such a cry flew past behind his eyes as he leapt over obstacles and ignored the _thwap_ of small twigs against his face. Perhaps he'd climbed a tree to get a better grip on his location, but had fallen; Anaxas, free from jail for some reason, might have come back for more pictures and frightened him into running until he tumbled down some portion of uneven terrain, his limbs snapping against gnarled roots and rocks; one of the region's poisonous snakes could have gotten its fangs into him. There was no end to the scenarios Bruce could imagine, but what faced him as he jerked to a stop on the edge of reality was unspeakably worse.

The trees here were old-growth behemoths, their lowest limbs unreachable by even the tallest of men, and the great height of their crowns kept the ground beneath them shaded to the point that very little undergrowth could take hold. As a result, there was nothing to obstruct his view of the broadly built but heavy-bellied man who stood some two dozen feet away, a half-full glass jar held aloft in one gloved hand. Curled on the ground at his feet was a panicked and mewling Dick, his face a rictus of pain as he stared at the yellowed skin peeking through his badly damaged sleeves. As all three watched, the flesh began to darken and bleed, deep gashes and ulcers appearing in the spots that had merely looked jaundiced a moment earlier. Another scream rocked the trees.

"Shut up!" the stranger, whom the billionaire had now identified as the very person whose factory he had infiltrated the night before, snapped. "And don't _you_ move," he added, leveling a finger towards the new arrival. "If either of you tries to escape or get to the other before I say so, this full load of nitric is going in the kid's face."

…_Oh, baby, is that what he threw on you?_ part of him moaned.

…_I'll fucking kill him,_ came on the first thought's heels. _Slowly__._

_No, let Zucco go for now. If I can just get him back to the pond, I can wash what's left of the acid off of his skin…oh, god, no deep breaths,_ he wanted to order as the child squirming on the leaves drew gasping sobs. _Don't inhale it. You're going to be scarred up, but so long as he doesn't put any more on you and you don't breathe the fumes you'll be okay…slow and easy, chum, __please__…_ "Please," he managed to choke out. "He's just a child."

"A child who has outlived his life expectancy," Zucco shot back. "He should have died that night, with his parents. _Those_ were my orders, not this orphan shit. And _you_," he spat, "are the reason that I had to come along after my men to finish what they started. If you hadn't delayed the show, it would have been three dead aerialists, not two. Since I had to go out of my way to get this done, I'm going to have a little fun with it. Indirect nitric wasn't good enough for him, it seems, so direct it is." With that, he splashed a little more in the boy's direction. It splattered across his ribs and began to immediately eat holes in his shirt, and a renewed howl sounded.

"Stop it!" Bruce shouted, tears running down his face.

"Can it, or I swear to god you're going to need a closed casket for him! All the money in the world won't rebuild his face after this acid hits it."

Even if the billionaire hadn't already known the effect of the pale yellow substance in the jar on flesh, all he would have needed to do in order to verify the legitimacy of the threat was look at the work it had already done on the youth. Large patches of his arms were now devoid of skin, leaving unprotected muscle cells to burn away under the corrosive. Their eyes met. "…Bruce?" His voice sounded softly, a plea that he make the pain to go away embedded in his name.

He dropped to the ground, his hands splaying along the sides of his skull as he watched helplessly. Another dribble of chemical dropped onto the as-yet-untouched legs, making them kick and scissor. _I can't do anything!_ he wanted to scream aloud. He had no doubt that Zucco would throw the remainder straight into the boy's eyes, as he'd promised, and he knew where that would lead; blindness, massive disfigurement that no amount of plastic surgery could ever wholly fix, and, if he inhaled, a gruesome, painful death. _Don't,_ he begged silently. _Leave him alone. Use it on me instead, I don't care, just not on __him__…_

The fertilizer man tilted his container once more, and Bruce could do nothing more than brace himself. _Look at me, kiddo,_ he stared at him. _Look at me, and maybe it will hurt just a little bit less…_ As if he'd heard him, Dick's gaze connected with his own, and in an instant the billionaire knew what was about to happen. _Don't,_ he breathed uselessly even as he stood and rushed forward, aiming for the bulky figure whom the boy was in the process of kicking a knee out from under.

The flight of the acid wasn't visible to him as he hit the crime lord at waist height, but the tortured shriek that made his eardrums recoil told him that a good portion of it had hit Zucco's intended target. _Mother__fucker__,_ he snarled, his control vanishing as he slammed the out-of-towner's head into the dirt three, four, then five times. The fog of primal rage that filled every nook and cranny of his brain was cut only by the child's screeching, and even that was barely enough to keep him from completely destroying the man on the ground.

"Dick," he hissed, crawling over to him desperately and sweeping him up off of the ground. He didn't look down the entire way back to the pond, intent on getting the caustic substance washed off immediately. Holes appeared in his own clothing as acid was transferred by contact, but he paid no attention when it began to bite into his skin. They plunged through the thin shell of ice at the edge of the water, and as Bruce held the boy in place and palmed the neutral fluid over what little of his body wasn't submerged his cries faded. "…Move your hands, baby," the billionaire crooned. "Let me clean your face, I know it hurts, but you've got to, please…"

The limbs pulled away slowly at his behest, and the desire to go back and give Zucco a taste of his own medicine exploded in his veins. The falling nitric had done exactly what the crime lord had threatened to enact personally, coating a large portion of the child's left cheek and temple as well as dotting his nose and lips. Both of his eyes were already so bloodshot that the discoloration had overwhelmed the irises, destroying their naturally brilliant hue. "Okay, it's okay, hush, hush now, relax…" he chanted over the little moans of pain that still escaped as he splashed him in a hopeless effort to save his vision.

"…Bruce…"

_It hurts,_ hung between them, unspoken but understood. The boy coughed suddenly, a sheen of blood showing on his teeth when he took a needy breath afterwards. The motion jostled his head, and the surface of the worst-hit eye jiggled unnaturally. "…Close this," the billionaire thumbed the lid down, trying not to think about the mush that would likely be there when it reopened. "Keep the other one open, though, I'm not done with it." _There's nothing I can do for the other, but maybe this side…_

The orb had ceased reddening, and it stayed blearily focused on his face as he continued to pour pond water over it. _Oh, god,_ his fingers trembled as they wiped gently across open sores. _Oh, god, no. _ He knew they had to get out of the water and to the house, but he couldn't budge. _Just…have to keep it cleared out,_ ran through his mind over and over again. _Keep rinsing…I can save this side…Zucco, you bastard, I will make you pay for this, morals be damned…he did __nothing__ to you…just have to keep washing it out…_ But there was a milky white pall gathering over it now, not the same as the strange jelly-like substance he'd glimpsed above the flayed left cheek but bad nonetheless. _No, no, __no__…I can save this one, damn it! Let him have __something__…_

It was no good, though, as Dick himself demonstrated a moment later. "…Bruce?" his voice, scratchy from screaming and from the internal hemorrhages that had begun to form after he'd gasped in a breath of acid, searched.

The billionaire's hand froze as he picked up fear in his tone. "…Dick?"

"Bruce? _Bruce?!" _He began to wriggle as best he could with so many injuries, one hand clamping down on his guardian's wrist.

…_He can't see me. It's gone. It was useless… _"Dick!"

"_Bruce, wake up!"_

The billionaire jolted awake to find the boy he had been cradling in half-frozen watera second before kneeling beside him on the bed, miraculously whole. "…Dick?" he queried disbelievingly.

"I…I'm right here," came whispered back.

"Oh, jesus fucking _christ_," the man whimpered, pulling him down into a greedily thankful embrace. "Oh…oh, my god…thank you," he groaned against the child's ear. "Are you…?" He shoved him back suddenly and ran his hands over his arms and legs before cupping his face in both palms and examining his eyes in the low light of the nightstand lamp. "…You're not hurt? Everything's okay?"

"…You had a nightmare," Dick explained solemnly. "But it's gone now."

"Thank you, chum," he said gratefully. "…Thank you so much."

"It was really bad, huh?"

"I…you…yes," was all he replied as he visually devoured the small frame before him. "…Come here." The youth obeyed, climbing into his lap and letting himself be held and rocked without comment.

"…Bruce?" came after a long while. "Are…are you still mad at me?"

"Mad at you?" he puzzled, the spat of the evening before having been pushed into the dredges of his consciousness by the vivid visions that were still sending shudders through him at intervals. "Why…oh. No," he shook his head. "I wasn't mad at you, Dicky, I just…I just _can't_ let you out on patrol with Batman. I know that's what you want, but…there are so many horrible people in the world, and in Gotham," _and outlying communities,_ he didn't add, "who could hurt you. Hurt you, or worse," he squeezed him. "And I _can't_ let them do that. I just…I just _can't_." Bowing his head, he let tears slip into the child's hair. "I just can't."

"…Your dream was about me, wasn't it?"

The billionaire stilled. "How do you know that?" he whispered.

"You called my name a couple of times, at the end. Plus…well, now," he pointed out. "Do you know you screamed?"

"Did I?"

"Yeah. I heard you across the hall. You woke me up."

"…I'm sorry," he apologized. "Did you have bad dreams tonight, while I was gone?" he went on, trying to divert the topic before he could be asked for specifics of the nightmare.

"Um…yes. But…I don't think I screamed like you did." He snuggled closer. "…I'm sorry you had a dream like that."

"Me, too. But it's over now." _It's over, and you're here with me. It was just a nightmare. That's all. But that doesn't mean you're helping me tackle Zucco. Not a chance in hell._

…_I won't argue about that,_ Batman chimed in tightly. _I still believe that he needs to start training for eventual fieldwork, but he shouldn't actually be out there until we know Zucco is behind bars._ The vigilante was usually immune to the visions that plagued their sleep, but from the well-disguised shake in his voice Bruce surmised that the one they'd just been roused from had succeeded in affecting him.

_And I still say, with even more conviction now than before, that anything beyond the cave is out of the question. Although,_ he relented slightly, _I wouldn't object to his being taught some defensive tactics, just in case. __Only__ defense, though; he doesn't need to know how to attack, just to fend people off so that he can escape. That…that I can agree to. If he'd had that kind of training in the dream, maybe…maybe things would have turned out differently. He did the best he could, but… _The image of dissolving, blinded eyes and chemical-burned cheeks that seemed to be imprinted on his retinas contrasted so violently with the precious pixie face currently pressed into his shoulder that it made his stomach turn. "…Dick?" he asked, hoping he'd pull away a bit and prove once more that he was intact.

"Huh?"

"Look at me." When he did as he'd been told, Bruce felt a tiny smile bend his lips. "…Okay. Thanks."

"Sure. Um…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…It was two weeks today."

_Ooh…I was kind of hoping maybe you wouldn't realize, to be honest,_ the billionaire winced. _It doesn't hurt as bas when you don't think about it. _"Yeah, I know it was, chum."

"I…I almost didn't notice. We were so…so busy today. I only remembered because I had the dream again tonight. Twice."

"You could have come in here, if you wanted."

"I wasn't sure you'd want me to. I thought…I thought you were mad. I thought I messed things up," his words grew thick.

"Hush. You had a long day, and a lot of people weren't very nice to you. It's okay. We all have our…moments," he admitted. "Myself included. But I will _never_ be so mad at you that I don't want you to come to me if you have a nightmare and need to talk. Remember that."

"I'll try," he nodded. "I just…I hate that dream, Bruce. I hate seeing them over and over again like that…falling, and then…and then…" He sniffled, then wiped at his eyes. "I just wish it would stop."

"It will get better with time. I know that doesn't help now, but…it will."

"…It didn't get better for you, though. You said so."

_Shit. _"…You're not me, Dicky," he told him vehemently. "It _will_ get better for you, no matter what we have to do to make that happen. Okay?"

"…Okay," he replied with absolutely no conviction. "…Bruce?" he spoke his name again.

"What's up, kiddo?"

"Don't get mad at me for asking this, but…you still have your dream, right? About…about your parents?"

"Yes," he answered slowly. "I do."

"How…how did they…I mean…" He trailed off, then tried valiantly to rephrase his inquiry. "You know how my parents…died. So, I was just wondering…" When silence spun out, he backtracked. "You don't have to tell me. It's okay, honest."

"No," Bruce shook his head. _You deserve to know. Of all the people in the world besides Alfred and I, you're the one who has earned this knowledge the most, I think. _"I'll tell you. Just…give me a minute." He took a deep breath. "We went to a movie," came out gradually. "I was young, younger than you, even. We went to a late showing despite my age, partially as a treat to me and partially…partially because that was when my father could make himself available. He was a doctor, and we didn't see him…all that much. He had patients…" He trailed off for a second. "We went to a movie. It was…fun. Then, as we were walking back to the car – Alfred had wanted to drive us, but dad said he should have a night off – two men stepped out of an alleyway. One of them…had a gun. I know they wanted my mother's pearls, but after that…"

"After that I don't really remember the details," he confessed. "All I know is that the one with the gun shot them both. He shot them both, and then he looked at me and said something. I've never been able to figure it out for sure, I was too scared to really listen. If I responded, I must have said the right thing, because I'm still here," his voice came out bitter, "but they were gone."

Two hands tangled themselves in one of his own. "…They gave him a life sentence, right? The bad man?"

"He was never caught. Not by the police, and not by Batman."

"…Oh. Well…if _you_ couldn't find him, maybe someone else got him put away for another crime," Dick said encouragingly. "I know it isn't the same, but…maybe?"

_I seriously doubt that, kiddo, but…I appreciate the effort._ "Yeah," he squeezed his fingers. "Maybe."

Peering up to see the man staring into the dark middle distance, the boy looked guilty. "…I didn't mean to upset you," he said contritely. "I'm sorry."

"It just isn't something I get asked very often," Bruce shook himself. "In fact, I can't even remember the last time someone asked. Everyone either already knows, isn't really interested, or is too chickenshit to go there." A little giggle rose around him, and the knot that had been sitting in the center of his chest since he'd woken loosened slightly. "…What?"

"…'Chickenshit?' I've never heard that before."

"First of all, don't repeat it. Second…yeah. It's like…like being a scaredy-cat," he conjured up a kid-friendly synonym.

"Oh. Okay." A yawn followed his nod. "…I'm still tired. Are you, too?"

"I am. And if you stay here," he added softly, "I might even be able to sleep."

"…You really want me to?"

"If you want to." _Say yes. If that dream reoccurs tonight, I might as well go ahead and have this space converted into something more useful than a bedroom, because I sure as hell won't be sleeping ever again._

"I wanted to come in earlier, but…"

"But you thought I was mad."

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I'm not mad, so…" Without being told to do so, the boy pulled away just enough to climb beneath the covers at his side, laying down and nestling under his arm. _There,_ he sighed. _Much better._

"Bruce?"

"Mm?"

"…Can I still have a Robin costume?"

_…I don't dare try to take it away from him now. Not…not after that dream. Besides, we made a deal, and he kept his end of it. In fact, he __more__ than kept his end of it._ "Yes. But the rule stands; it stays in the cave."

"I know. Thank you. Do…do you think I can work the radio tonight, if you go out on patrol?"

He hesitated. "It's technically going to be Sunday night…but we'll talk to Alfred about extending your bedtime as a special reward."

"A special reward?" he wrinkled his nose. "For what?"

The billionaire reached over and shut off the bedside lamp. "…For saving me, chum," he murmured as he tugged him close. "For saving me from myself."

**Author's Note: The proposal that Dick should save Bruce from a nightmare was made by LittleCopperRidingHood. Happy reading!**


	58. Chapter 58

"Sirs? It's nearly noon, you really ought to get up."

Despite being grateful that Alfred's actual method of waking them was infinitely more pleasant than the version in his dream had been, Bruce groaned in protest. Dick didn't so much as stir in his arms, and the billionaire gave a tiny smile before sinking back down towards sleep.

"...Master Wayne, this is hardly a good example to set," was said a bit more firmly when there was no attempt made to rise. "Weekend or not, you can't spend the entire day in bed."

"I thought rich people could do whatever they want," he rebutted petulantly. Despite having slept for a further five hours after waking from his nightmare, the vision still had him feeling drained. _I just want to lay here with him. Nothing can hurt him if he's right here with me. It's when I can't see him that the bad things happen._

"Hypothetically, sir, you are correct. Nevertheless, I daresay that you've already used up a fair portion of your clout in that arena purely with your nighttime hobbies. Wouldn't you agree?"

_Those 'nighttime hobbies' are the reason I need to sleep late to begin with,_ he groused silently. "…All right, we'll be down in a minute. A few minutes." He paused. "…Twenty minutes. Or so."

"Very good. I'll have your breakfast ready then." As he turned away, the Englishman felt a grin teasing along his lips. _Twenty minutes, and I'll be coming back up to try again, I believe,_ he thought amusedly. _That's all right. The pair of you bundled up in your blankets is a sight worth mounting the stairs twice for._

"…Alfred!" Bruce called, stopping the butler at the door as a crucial question leapt to the front of his mind. "…Has the fence been fixed yet?" _That had to have been the way Zucco came in in the dream, there's no other reason for him to have been out by the pond,_ he flailed mentally. _Maybe he'd read about how Anaxas got in – it had to have been in the papers – and decided to take advantage of it. It's certainly been made obvious enough that this is where Dick is._ He frowned. _…Wait, it was a dream. Why am I analyzing it like it was real? Zucco would be insane to try and sneak onto my property in order to hurt him. Although that doesn't preclude him sending men in his place…damn it. I know it was only a nightmare, but I can't shake it._ His arms tightened reflexively. _It was just…too awful._

"The workers will be here this afternoon to remove the tree and replace the crushed section. The perimeter will be fully secure before nightfall."

"…Good," he sighed. When the butler had vacated the room, the billionaire turned his thoughts to the boy, concentrating on the aftermath of his nocturnal vision rather than on the scenes themselves. _You really did save me last night, kiddo,_ he mused silently. _If it had gone on…I know what was happening. The blood…the blood on your teeth,_ he shuddered, _you breathed in that acid, I know you did. I don't think being blinded would have been the worst of your problems in a few more minutes, and if that had happened…no, no, don't think about that,_ he jerked himself back from the edge of tears. _The point is, you heard me in distress and your first reaction was to help. That means so much, Dicky, for someone to have come to me after an experience like that and give me exactly what I needed to feel better. You have no idea…_

"Mpf."

Bruce looked down at the slight noise. "…Dick? You awake?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Really? You must be talking in your sleep, then," he teased. "…You can close your eyes for a few more minutes if you want. I don't think Alfred is quite to the 'throw open the curtains and pull back the blankets' stage just yet."

"Kay…"

They both drifted for as long as they could get away with. When the butler entered the room for a second time, the moan of disappointment that met him was dual. "…I'm afraid it _is_ that time, sirs," he choked out over the laughter that threatened to escape him.

"That wasn't twenty minutes," the still-abed man argued half-heartedly.

"I beg pardon, Master Wayne, but it has been twenty-one minutes and," he glanced at his watch, "thirty-two seconds since I departed."

"...Did you really count the _seconds_?" a mildly awed young voice inquired.

The adults exchanged an amused look. "…Perhaps not quite as diligently as I may have made it out that I did, Master Dick," Alfred confessed sportingly. "But that doesn't change the fact that it is high time you both rose for the day."

"All right," Bruce conceded. "…We'll be right down."

"I'm sure you will be. Since that is the second time in half an hour that you've stated as much, however, I believe I'll save myself a few steps and simply stand by until you've succeeded in separating yourselves from the bedcovers."

"Well, you heard the verdict, chum. It's time to get up."

Dick tilted his head to peer at his guardian. "…Why do _I_ have to get up first?" he asked slyly, angling for a few more seconds under the warm blankets.

"Because you got more sleep than I did last night," was countered.

"I'm still a kid, though. Kids need more sleep than grown-ups. Don't we, Alfred?" he tried to enlist the Englishman's assistance.

"That is the general opinion, yes, young sir," he coughed delightedly. _I do love how they repartee. Words flow so naturally between them, _he marveled, _it's as if they've known each other their entire lives rather than a mere two weeks._ "Although I must admit that it seems rather trivial to argue over who should get up first, since you both must do so in short order."

"…We could get up at the same time," the boy suggested, returning his attention to Bruce. "Then it would be fair."

"Okay," he went along with the suggestion, unable to refuse him most anything at the moment. "You go that way, I'll go this way."

"No, wait! I have a better idea," he grinned. "Sit up?"

The billionaire put on a quizzical expression, but did as he'd been asked. As soon as he was upright, Dick crawled around behind him and grabbed onto his shoulders, knees hooking over his hips. "…Wait, what are you doing?"

"This way we get up at the same time!"

"…You expect me to carry you down to breakfast like this, don't you?"

Tears of mirth blurred Alfred's vision at the resigned note in his elder charge's voice. _And you'll oblige him, of course. Who wouldn't? _

"Well, I'm already up here, so…yes?"

Shaking his head despite the happiness rolling of him in waves, Bruce ensured that his load was securely on his back and then stood. "…This is a one-time thing," he warned. "I'm not a pack horse."

"Okay," the child nodded, sending the butler a clever look that his guardian couldn't see. "One time a day it is."

"That's not…oh, to hell with it," he sighed in defeat as Alfred leaned against the wall in a weakened state, a few chortles slipping out. "I'll call this my morning workout or something. Ready?"

"…If I say giddyup, will you get mad and put me down?"

"_Yes_."

"Then I'm ready," he made a face. "Let's go!"

Their playful comments lasted through the stacks of pancakes they were served. It was only when a pile of the Sunday papers were brought out and placed between them that the mood slackened. "…My apologies for interrupting, sirs, but there _are_ a few photos in today's society pages that I thought you might like to see," the butler explained.

Bruce's eyes narrowed dangerously. "They aren't Anaxas' pictures, are they?" he semi-growled.

"No, Master Wayne, only shots from the banquet last night. Please let me know when you've finished with them so that they can be recycled." _…After I've snipped a couple of my particular favorite images out, of course,_ he didn't add.

"…He's totally going to cut them out and save them, isn't he?" Dick asked once they were alone.

"I would be amazed if he doesn't," the billionaire agreed as he opened the first sheet of newsprint. "Ugh, that's a terrible picture," his mouth turned down horribly.

"Let me see," Dick requested, ducking under the table and popping up at the man's side an instant later. "…Eew. That _is_ bad. How did they manage to make you look kind of…you know…chunky?"

"I have no idea. Photoshop, maybe," he scoffed, his self-confidence untouched. It was hardly the first unflattering photo of him that had ever been published, but… _What editor would print this?_ he wondered, turning back to the front page. "_Glitz_," he snorted. "That explains it. The guy who runs this paper is a photographer, himself. He had a big show in one of the downtown galleries last year," he disclosed. "There was a lot of hype for it, right up until opening night. That was when we all found out that his secret passion is taking pictures of garbage dumps."

"…His show was just pictures of _garbage_?"

"Yeah. Dumps from all over the world – which you would think might at least be mildly interesting, just for the different locations – and yet he managed to not capture anything of interest. It was astoundingly awful."

"You didn't say anything mean, did you? When you found out it was just trash?"

"…I might have made a couple of comments in passing."

"Well, maybe that's why he submitted a bad picture of you, then," the boy shrugged as if it were obvious.

"Hmm. You could be right. Either way, he has no taste. But," he picked up his fork and stabbed it through his own black-and-white image, "at least now this picture isn't likely to linger in Alfred's room."

"Won't he be mad?"

"He'll get over it if he is. I don't want _that_ ending up in a photo album." They flipped through four or five other publications' publicity pages, finding to their relief that none of the other photos approached the misrepresentation of the first. "…I like this one," Bruce said quietly as they opened the last article. There, in full color, was a capture of the two of them leaving the event. Exhibits lined the walls on either side and stretched into the background, framing them perfectly. Although they were clearly in motion, the billionaire's hand was restingd on his young guest's shoulder, and the shutter had closed at the exact instant that they'd exchanged an unreadable look. "'The Reformation of Bruce Wayne'?" he read the caption incredulously. "This is what I get for only having one drink last night."

"…All finished, sirs?" Alfred reappeared from the kitchen.

"Almost. Did you hear I've been reformed?"

_I didn't need to hear it, I've been watching it happen with my own eyes. _"Yes, I saw that. I'm sure there are many hungover young socialites who will be devastated when they're informed."

"And two divorcees waiting in the wings to take the place of each party girl," he sighed, closing the paper and adding it to the stack that had been swept into the butler's arms.

"…Sorry," Dick blushed, surprising both men with his contrition.

"You didn't do anything, kiddo. I don't mind what the media says about me; they don't know what they're talking about." _The only person who's ever written an honest article about me was Clark, and I should have decked him for doing it,_ he mused. _At least he was careful not to give too much away. More than I preferred, maybe, but…he didn't risk my mask, I have to give him that._ With Superman in mind, his forehead creased pensively. _He wants to meet you, but…I don't know, it seems too soon. Not because you're going anywhere, but…I just don't know. You're like him in some ways, and I think you'll get along just fine, but the time doesn't feel right._

The afternoon passed too quickly. The boy wanted to run back to his bars immediately after brunch, and was stopped only by Alfred's continued insistence that he give his food time to settle before engaging in such a high level of physical activity. They retired to the game room instead, where Dick sighed on the threshold. "…This room is so cool," he repeated what he'd said upon first seeing it the day before. "Why didn't you show me this place sooner?"

"It didn't really occur to me, kiddo," Bruce answered as he turned on a console. "I didn't use this room very much before you came here."

"You make it sound like you were boring before I came here," he commented, dropping onto the couch beside the billionaire and scooting in close against his side. "But I know that's not right, because how could Batman ever be _boring_?"

"You'd be surprised just how boring I can be."

"I don't believe it," he shook his head. "You're too interesting to be boring."

The man chuckled. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. Now here," he shoved a controller at him, "roll things up into a giant ball some more, would you?"

"You just like it when I roll up cows and people and you can see their legs kicking," the child accused smilingly as he took the remote.

"…That might be my favorite part, yes," he admitted with a slightly sheepish tone. _Either that, or the way you giggle when your katamari picks up something weird. That's pretty damn hard to beat, chum._

A half an hour later, Dick paused the game. "…Bruce?" he frowned, turning to him.

"Hmm?"

"You went to Newtown last night, right?"

"I did." _What reminded you? _he wondered. _You didn't mention it after you woke me up or during breakfast, so why now? _"Why?"

"Well…" The question that had been on the tip of his tongue since he rolled up several bags of fertilizer in the game hovered there, afraid to make the leap to the air. "Was…was it him? Zucco? Do you know?" he blurted out finally.

The billionaire thought hard for a moment before he responded. _If I tell him what I found, he'll want to see it, and probably want to help test it,_ he determined. _But I don't want him anywhere __near__ nitric acid, not after that dream. If it were to spill somehow and get on him…god, I'd never forgive myself. But at the same time, if I don't tell him__ something__ I'll upset him, and that could hypothetically drive him towards writing the same sort of note that he left me in the dream. Shit. _

"I talked to a source last night," he revealed slowly. "He seemed pretty certain that it _was_ Zucco, and this is a man who would be in a position to know such things. But," he added, seeing the boy gulp, "I'm still trying to figure out what kind of a motive Zucco would have had. He sells dangerous chemicals illegally," he explained, "but that's not really something that the circus could help him with, so it doesn't explain the threats you heard. And my informant has a personal reason for wanting to see him behind bars, so that has to be taken into account, too. It's complicated, kiddo," he wrapped up, "but we're getting closer. I promise, I'm not going to let this guy get away if he's the one who did it."

"I know you won't," Dick said softly, eyes downcast in the midst of a thoughtful expression. "I know you don't want me to go through life the way…the way you do." That was what had most struck him earlier, as he'd listened to Bruce tell the story of his own most personal tragedy; the billionaire had never had closure, and was still haunted by it. The fact that he was concentrating on making sure that the legacy of not knowing didn't repeat itself spoke volumes in the youth's mind. "…Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. He's still free. But," he went on, "not for long. I'll go for him soon, I'm sure."

"Can…can I help when you do? On the radio?" _…Or something?_ he bit back, not yet ready to broach the topic that had resulted in their argument the night before.

"Absolutely. You absolutely can." _Anything to keep you from trying to go after him physically. _"…Why don't we go downstairs?" he suggested, remembering his decision of the night before to teach the child a few defensive maneuvers. "There's something I want to show you." _…More than one thing, actually,_ he added to himself, a list of cave chores that he could assign to Robin to make him feel useful forming in his mind. _Distractions. I've got to make you feel useful so that you don't want to go after him as much…_

"What is it?" the boy asked.

Bruce smiled at his sudden eagerness. "It's a couple of things, actually," he upped the temptation. "…Robin things. Stuff you can do to help."

He was on his feet and at the door in seconds, the stilled game on the screen completely forgotten. "Robin stuff?" his eyes shone. "Then let's go!"

_You probably really __would__ sweep the floor with a happy grin, just like you said in your letter to Batman, so long as you thought you were being of assistance,_ the billionaire appreciated as he joined him. _I can't say I'm disappointed by your excitement. I just wish I had a way to help you channel it that fell somewhere between boring chores and mortal peril._ "Okay, chum," he ruffled his hair as he passed. "To the Batcave."

**Author's Note: Due to the fact that this is Memorial Day weekend and I have guests coming up, there may not be another chapter up until next Tuesday. I will try to get one out this weekend, but no guarantees. I'm hoping to post at least one short story (since they're easier to just spill out in a couple of hours while everyone else is sleeping than a full chapter), possibly a new 'Spot of Tea' chapter or something riffing off of the great ideas a couple of readers gave me yesterday. In either case, happy reading!**


	59. Chapter 59

"…There's one last thing I'll show you before dinner," Bruce informed the bouncing boy at his side after they'd run through what all was supposed to be in Batman's utility belt for the eighth time. The past few hours had flown by as he'd come up with more and more little chores that he could give out to keep Robin occupied in lieu of fieldwork. He'd been pleased to find him even more fascinated by all of the cave's electronic gadgetry today than he had been during their first tour, and had taken the time to stop and explain much of it to the continually interested child. "You should check the trunk of the car every night before I go out, just like you should check the belt."

"But," Dick stopped walking immediately and peered up at his guardian, "how can I do that? You said the car only lets _you_ into it."

_Good. You remembered._ "That's right," he nodded. "Myself and Alfred are the only people with authorization right now. But I can adjust that so it will let you in, too."

"Really?" his eyes widened excitedly. "How does _that_ work?"

"I'll show you," he led him to the car and opened the passenger door. "Go ahead, climb in."

"…No way," the youth craned his neck, grinning foolishly in his delight. "I get to sit in the _Batmobile_?"

"Only if you hurry, because Alfred will be down to get us before too long. Come on, get in there," he urged with a little smile, pleased by his excitement.

Giggling, Dick obeyed, his hair practically frizzing with disbelief when the door was shut behind him and Bruce circled to the driver's side. Once the man was seated, he showed him how to shuffle through the control options on the dash computer. "…You can only change who has access to the car from in here," he explained as he pressed his fingers to the screen and then entered a complicated password. "That way it's still secure even if someone were to infiltrate the cave, hack the guidance system – which would be impossible in and of itself – and try to control the vehicle remotely." He tapped swiftly at the keyboard that had popped up, entering more codes as he skipped through one display after another. "You can give voice commands once you're in, but it will only respond to a known person. Here, say 'hello,'" he pulled his hand back to ensure that the microphone wasn't blocked.

The youth hesitated. "Hello?" he said cautiously. _Talking to elephants is one thing, but…this is just a hunk of metal!_

"_Voice archived. Hello, Robin," _a smooth female timbre greeted.

"…Wooooow," he breathed. "Does it always do that? Talk to you?" _He told it my name. My __other__ name. Robin. That's…that's me._ For the first time, his alternate persona was beginning to feel real, solid, like something more than just a daydream hovering wistfully at Batman's side. _This is so cool…_

"I turn it off most of the time, but it can be useful. It will recognize your voice and follow your commands even if it's set to not reply. Put your hand on the glass."

"Huh? Oh! Wait, which one?"

"Right first, then left. Make sure you get your palm tight against it," he advised. "You want as much of your handprint info in there as possible."

"Isn't that dangerous, though? What if someone got into it who wasn't supposed to?"

"That will never happen. If there's ever any forced entry to the car, the computer will wipe itself clean." A proud little grin arched his lips. "Then it will incinerate itself. Just the computer, not the whole car, but there won't be a scrap of retrievable info left."

Dick was gaping. "…How'd you do _that_?" he gasped.

"That's a _very_ long explanation. I'll tell you some other time. Did you do both hands?"

"Yeah, I-"

"_Handprint scan complete. Please proceed to retinal registry."_

"…Retinal registry?"

"Eyes," Bruce held back a slight shudder. "Lean forward until your nose almost touches the middle of the screen, and then don't blink for a count of three."

"Oh. Okay. One pretty elephant…two pretty elephants…three pretty elephants! Done!" he pulled back.

"That didn't hurt, right?" He knew it hadn't, but the question still forced its way out.

"Nope."

"_Retinal registration finished. Upload DNA sample?"_

"No," Bruce instructed the voice. _There is no reason whatsoever that he should __ever__ need to get in here so covered with his own blood that his fingerprints are unreadable,_ he deemed. "In fact…" Clicking speedily through menus, he shut the voice off – he'd only activated it because it seemed likely to make the boy smile – and finished assigning Dick's permissions. "…you're all done."

"…Does that mean we have to get out?" a slight pout appeared. _I'll bet there's a million other cool things that this car can do…_

"Yes. We have to test it, don't we? We can't do that from in here."

"Oh. You're right. So…it's safe for me to touch the car now?"

"Right. In fact, I want you to go open the trunk."

"Okay," he nodded, clambering out and skipping to the rear of the auto. "…How do I do that?"

"Put your hand right…here," the billionaire guided him to a hidden latch just above the bumper. As soon as the youth's fingers slid under it, the lid opened to reveal an array of tools and supplies ranging from spare grapples and batarangs to a full medical kit. A number of unknown items were locked up in hard cases, but before Dick could ask what was in them he was given further instructions. "You should check this every night, too. Just make sure all of the supplies are as full as they can be, and that all of the crates are locked in place. Don't worry about what's in them yet; we'll look at those more in detail later, and for now I'll keep those stocked. That's all there is to that, but," he shut the storage space, "there's more in there than you'd think, so really look when you do it the first few times. I'll help you with it tomorrow, then you should be good."

"Okay," he nodded. "…Thank you, Bruce. Everything down here is so amazing…I'm glad you showed me more, and I'll do a good job with my chores, I promise."

"Well," the billionaire said slowly as Alfred stepped off of the last stair, "I've got _one_ more thing for you, but you can't start until after dinner. You'll have to do it down here, but…maybe this evening you can get to work designing your costume." He paused at the sharp intake of breath that suggestion inspired. "If you want to, and if Alfred's available," he amended.

"Yes!" came a frantic squeal. "Alfred," he scrambled to the butler, gripping his hand tightly once he reached him, "will you _please_ help me with my Robin clothes after dinner? Pretty please?"

"I don't imagine that will be a problem, young sir," he agreed genially as warm, begging fingers curled in his palm. "On the condition, of course, that you clean your plate." _It doesn't seem to matter how much I coax you to eat, or how much you put away,_ he sighed to himself, _you just aren't gaining weight the way we need you to. I realize it's only been a week, but I would be shocked if you've put on an ounce since you've been here, let alone the three pounds Dr. Thompkins wants to see before the middle of next month._

"…What's for dinner?" the boy asked carefully before he agreed to the deal.

"I've roasted a chicken, Master Dick." 

"I like chicken," he nodded.

"Very well, then. Since our plans are settled, I imagine we ought to head upstairs and get to it, don't you?"

"Yes, Alfred."

"Go on, then. We'll be along shortly."

"Okay!" With that he launched himself up the stairs, already anticipating the work that he would be allowed to do after they'd dined.

"Check the peephole first!" Bruce called after him as he joined the other man. "…What's up, Alfred?" he asked once they'd heard the clock click back into place. _I know you want to talk to me without him in earshot; you'd never send him ahead to the dining room by himself otherwise._

"I simply wished to inquire as to the status of his case," the Englishman stated. "He appears to be doing well on the outside, but we both know it must rankle to have their killer still at large."

_…You have no idea,_ the billionaire grimaced. _It's miserable._ "Look, I didn't have a sudden change of heart about the costume just now," he explained tersely. "I think it will only lead to him wanting to go out with Batman even more than he already does. I still don't particularly want him to have one, but I can't think of a good reason to say no other than the ideas it might foster to forbid it. Frankly, having him mad at me is fucking _awful_ – I know, I know, language – and I don't want to tempt that without having a better argument than 'because I said so' to back myself up. He's agreed that it has to stay in the cave, and I can live with that, I guess. More importantly for tonight," he worked his way back around to the question, "I have a sample of nitric acid that I want to test against the traces I found on the trapeze wires. The thing is, I don't want him at my elbow while I do it." _For a couple of reasons,_ he didn't elaborate. "There's no way he'll let me be down here by myself, and if I wait until after his bedtime to test the samples I'll lose patrol time. I _have_ to run all of Gotham tonight. I don't like going this long without hitting the usual spots."

"My role this evening, then, is to act as a distraction from what you're working on," the butler comprehended. "I don't believe that will be a problem, sir. We'll see what we can find of use back in the disguise closets, and I'll procure whatever else he deems necessary."

"…You don't have to rush in making it, you know," Bruce said evenly.

"Oh, on the contrary, Master Wayne," Alfred stared back. "I believe it's in his best interest to be able to be in costume if he's going to run the radio the night you finally go after the person or people responsible for tearing his life apart. The more involved in that battle he feels he is, the less likely he is to imagine that he did nothing to bring them to justice and, thus, nothing to avenge his parents' deaths. I know it isn't supposed to be about vengeance," he held up one hand before a protest could be lodged, "but I feel that cases such as this one may be the exception to that rule. And I know you agree," he added softly. "However, I am very glad to hear that you have a solid lead, and I will be happy to keep the young master occupied so that you can work."

"Good. That will help."

"Perhaps we ought to adjourn to the dining room, then, unless there was something else you needed to tell me?"

"No. Let's get up there before he comes back to look for us." _He's crossing the foyer by himself now,_ he mused proudly as they ascended to the house. _I feel like it was just yesterday that he was too afraid to…oh. Right, _he realized bemusedly. _It more or less __was__ yesterday. Does…does it __all__ change that fast, with kids? God, I hope not…_

Dinner was a peaceful but short affair, and once it was finished the trio tromped back to the cave as a group. Dick leapt the last three risers, then shifted impatiently from foot to foot while he waited for Alfred to reach the basement level. Once the butler and the child had disappeared back into one of the less frequently used corners, Bruce headed for his utility belt to retrieve the samples he'd drawn the night before. Much to his relief the boy hadn't asked to see one of the vials, content to take his guardian's word that the hard-sided pouch contained empty glass tubes with tight lids for collecting liquids. _They should be settling in back there by now,_ he deemed as he carried his work over to the lab. _Out of sight and more or less out of hearing range, although I don't imagine I'll be shouting out 'eureka' even if this __does__ match up._

He opted to let the analysis computer do the work, hesitant to take the extra time that would be required to break it down by hand when Dick might come rushing from the back at any time. If nothing else, the man considered as he tapped his fingers against the counter and counted down the minutes, the youth had been so ecstatic about getting to design his Robin costume that he hadn't thought to ask what Batman would be working on in the meantime. As the timer counted down, he leaned forward and stared at the screen anxiously. His strained anticipation came to naught, however, when the results came back clean. _…Shit. I ran the control through first,_ he cursed. _So what I suspected was uncut nitric really was just that._ _Now, though,_ he held up the second vessel, _we'll see just how much of a real scumbag you are, Zucco. You'd better hope like hell that this doesn't come out as matching the stuff from the circus, because your ass is grass if it does. _

He opened up a laptop while the machine was working this time and began to chase down information on chemical markers. He had never before pursued someone who dealt in the sorts of substances that Zucco did, at least not in such large amounts that it would be desirable to be able to tell your product from someone else's by examining its makeup. As such he was only making an educated guess when he chose to assume that the odd traces of other liquids he had found in the wire sample were a branding method. It didn't take long for him to verify that illegal bulk chemical dealers did, in fact, have a history of tainting their most popular items with a unique blend of other things that wouldn't affect the quality of the merchandise but _would_ make it easily identifiable from the goods of rivals. _The fact that some of those barrels were popped and resealed makes me a hell of a lot more confident about what's going to show up from this analysis,_ he thought grimly. _He'd have to be marking his stuff on-site, and the odds of someone else with their own nitric signpost being in the right place at the right time to put it on the wires…that's extremely unlikely, to say the least. _

A low _ding_ alerted him to the fact that the breakdown was complete. He scanned the results briefly, swallowed hard, and turned to make sure he was still alone in the main section of the cave before reading more in-depth. _…That son of a bitch,_ he stormed silently. _That rat bastard son of a bitch. It was your nitric, and I would just about bet that that means you either did it yourself or gave the order. Why? What did they ever do to you? How twisted are you, to make an innocent child parentless for some petty reason? Unless,_ he closed his eyes for a moment, _it was like you said in the dream, and the goal was to get all __three__ of them. And you would have, if…if I hadn't shown up, and delayed the show. If I'd stayed away, or even just been on time, kiddo'd be dead, too. __My__ kiddo…_

He saved the analysis to his digital file on Zucco – _I'll print it when I get back from patrol, then he doesn't have to see it for himself – _and closed it, still on guard for the boy to appear at any moment. Placing his knuckles on the flat work surface, he leaned forward over them and tried not to think for a minute. _I found him, chum. I found him, but how do I break that to you? It's good news, but it's also very, very hard news. I don't think I dare say anything to you until I know that fucker's motive; the minute I do, I won't be able to really pin it to him and he'll end up getting out early or doing no time at all. I don't want to do that to you, Dicky; I want to __know__ that he's going away forever before I tell you I've cornered him. I need that motive…_

"Bruce, are you okay?" A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, dragging him out of his angry contemplations.

"…Damn it, Clark, you have the worst goddamn timing of anyone I've ever met," he answered without moving. _I didn't hear the tube again,_ he kicked himself. _How do you distract me so __easily__, Dicky?_

"I'd say I have the best," the Kryptonian argued, clearly concerned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he shook his head as he straightened and shrugged the other man's touch off.

"You _looked_ like something was wrong just now."

The billionaire glanced towards the rear area where he knew Alfred and Dick were still holed up. "Keep your voice down," he instructed. "What I've been working on isn't necessarily for everyone's ears yet." He sighed, knowing Clark would drag it out of him through sheer tactical annoyance if he didn't give it up. _I don't really care if he knows about this, anyway,_ he decided. _It's not like it has anything to do with him._ "…I have the killer," he near-whispered. "I know who it is."

"Your little one's parents?" came back in an equally low tone. "And don't put on that look at me referring to him like that, either," he lectured good-naturedly in response to the scowl that crossed the Bruce's face. "I saw the papers this morning, and I remember what you told me the last time I was here. So…is it?"

"I…yeah," he admitted. "I can't go after him without motive – what kind of an international chemicals dealer targets a circus act? – but the markers in the nitric acid that burned through the trapeze wires is a perfect match with a sample I took from his warehouses last night. It's him, Clark, through and through."

"…You'll get him," the Kryptonian said, gently confident. "It won't be like…well. You'll get him," he repeated himself lamely, not wanting to bring up the fact that his friend's parents' killer had been at large for two decades. "I'm glad you had a breakthrough," he went on, "but…that's not why I came over."

"Shit!"

"What?"

…_I missed this week's meeting, too. _He could have smacked himself. _I'm sure that wasn't noticed by __anybody__._ "…The meeting," he let out grudgingly, hating to admit to the second oversight on his part in as many weeks.

"Don't worry about it. I just told everyone you were wrapped up in a big case in Gotham," the blue-suited man waved off. "No one batted an eye. No, I came over," the corner of his mouth hiked upwards hopefully, "because I was hoping I could meet him."

"Meet who?" he tried to stall. _It still feels too early, and with you standing here in full regalia…I don't want to do it like this. I'd rather he meet you as your, ah, less impressive self first…_

Superman gave a much put-upon sigh. "Come on, Bruce, really? The crazy kid who somehow managed to steal your heart in the last two weeks, of course."

"He's not _crazy_," Bruce defended immediately despite knowing full well that it hadn't been meant as an insult. "You're not meeting him at all if you're just going to call him names."

"…Overprotective much?" the Kryptonian raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms even as his smile broadened in amusement.

"If I am," the billionaire sagged defeatedly as he looked towards the shadows gain only to spot a pointed face peeking out covertly, "it seems to be useless." _There's no avoiding it now,_ his mouth tightened. _I'd wonder why Alfred didn't hold him back better, but I know the man too well to think he's anything but delighted by the idea of Dick meeting Clark. The only two people I've ever allowed into my home completely willingly, with the exception of Leslie and maybe, just maybe, Lucius? …Yeah, Alfred definitely sent him out here on purpose. Not that it probably took much coaxing,_ he groaned internally as he caught a starry look in the boy's eyes. _God damn it. Fine. _"…You can come out, kiddo," he called only because he saw no viable way of avoiding the encounter between the child and the superhero. "There's, uh…there's someone here that you should probably meet."


	60. Chapter 60

Superman could barely keep his expression in check as the child slithered silently into the light. _If I didn't know better, Bruce, you'd have a hard time convincing me that he isn't yours biologically,_ he mused. _His skin's a bit darker and his eyes are less haunted than I've ever known yours to be, but other than that and his skinny build I'd swear I was looking at a younger version of you._ "Hi," he crouched down to greet him. "You must be Richard."

"Um…Dick," he corrected nervously as he came to a stop beside the billionaire, trying to get as close to him as possible without looking like a baby. "It's…it's Dick. And you're…" he gulped audibly, "S-superman." His curiosity overwhelmed his shyness for a brief instant, and the one thing he'd wanted to ask ever since he first heard of the person now before him bubbled up. "Can you really fly?" he burst out. "Like…without wires or…or anything?"

"I can do that, when I need to," the Kryptonian nodded. "And the other things you might have been told I could do, too. But don't worry, I only crush the hands of bad guys," he added as the boy stared at the hand he'd extended. "Somehow, I don't think you fall into that category."

"…Oh!" Realizing the faux pas he was enacting by leaving the visitor's fingers hovering, he blushed deeply. "I…I hope not," he choked out, finally completing the shake. "Sorry." _Wow. He can fly without wires. That…that would be so amazing. _

"Nothing to be sorry for. I'm the one imposing. I probably shouldn't have come unannounced, but to be honest, I wanted to meet you."

"I…you…meet _me_?" the youth stuttered as he blinked hard in disbelief. "…Why? I'm…just a kid."

_You don't waste time, do you?_ the costumed man grinned. _Just like someone else I know. Someone whose stare,_ he noted amusedly, _is currently boring into the side of my head. _"Anyone who grabs Bruce's attention the way you did is worth knowing," he complimented in reply.

"Thanks," the color in his cheeks somehow grew more vivid. "I…um…wow," he sighed. "…Superman. I've read some stuff about you," he offered bravely. "But just…you know…newspaper articles. And only a few, but…uh…anyway…hi," he mumbled, once again growing bashful, then pulled his lower lip back between his teeth.

…_I was wondering how you snagged Bruce the way you did, pal, but I think you just answered that question for me. If you were any more adorable right now...Diana's going to absolutely smother you when you meet her. That's okay, it won't hurt either of you any. It sure hasn't hurt a certain melancholy billionaire, I can tell that much already._ "Well, maybe you read my work, then," he joked. As cute as the child was at the moment, he was hoping to get to know him a fair bit better than he would any other timorous fan, and that would be impossible if all he did was blush and stutter. He needed to fly himself down off of the pedestal he knew he'd already been placed on and land at Dick's level. "I've written some of the articles on Superman. Helped out on others, too."

"…That's kind of weird, isn't it?" the boy's eyes narrowed pensively. "I mean," he backpedaled a moment later, "having to…and not…oh, crud," his shoulders slumped. A second later he peeked up from beneath his eyebrows to find the man who had bent down to say hello chuckling kindly. "I…I didn't offend you?" he queried.

"Not at all," the Kryptonian shook his head. "And you're right, by the way; it _is_ weird. But that's my job. Clark Kent, journalist." _There's no point in keeping who I really am from him; if Bruce trusts him to know about Batman, __I__ can trust that he won't go spilling any of my secrets, either. Besides, the last thing I want to do is confuse him if I show up to the front door next time._ "Well," he amended self-effacingly, "newspaper reporter, at least. I call myself a journalist, but writing about a guy who flies around in tights isn't likely to win me a Pulitzer or anything."

"I don't know," he contemplated. "I guess if anyone was going to win an award for writing about Superman it would most likely be…you know…Superman, right? Since you have all the insider info on yourself?"

…_Damn, Bruce, he's clever like you, too._ "You have a point, but I don't think that will happen unless the world goes so topsy-turvy that Bruce opens up a Batman company. Think we can convince him to give it a shot?" he winked. "A Pulitzer wouldn't be half-bad, now that I stop and think about it."

Dick giggled a bit, his uncharacteristic awkwardness around this new super-acquaintance beginning to fade. "Copycat Batmans? Now _that's _weird."

"It is, isn't it?" _There. That's much better. You just needed a minute to realize that I'm not distant the way he can be, that's all. It didn't take you long, at least. Smart __and__ friendly; Bruce with a twist of sunshine. I like it._ "Has he given you eight hundred chores to do down here yet?" he inquired.

"No."

"Oh? Just seven hundred and ninety-nine, then?"

"…Maybe," he smiled, glancing upwards as if to check that he wasn't giving too much away. The billionaire just shifted, a slight frown on his lips as he listened to their easy banter. "But I want to help, so I don't mind."

"That's awfully nice of you, Dick," the ducked-down adult commented sincerely.

"Well…what you and Batman do is really nice, too. I just like to help people, I guess," he shrugged. "Maybe someday I can do more, like maybe even…maybe even patrols and stuff. I know I can't right away," he clarified before any objection could be made by the so-far silent third member of the conversation, "but…_someday_, maybe."

"Yeah? Do you have a name picked out already and everything?" Superman asked interestedly. He was certain he already knew the answer – _of course he doesn't, Bruce didn't even want to tell him about Batman, after all, so there's no way he's let him settle on a name for a distant someday when he can hit the streets –_ but when the boy looked towards his guardian again, this time with a question on his face, he realized that he had misjudged. _…You __do__ have one already set up. I'm glad he realized he needed to show you this place, but…that was one heck of an about-face. I'm amazed he didn't snap his own neck trying to do it._

"…Go on," the dour-looking man ground out unhappily. "You can tell him. _Only_ him, though, understood?"

"I understand," he nodded gravely before turning back to the Kryptonian, who was now studying him more carefully than he had before. "…I'm going to be called Robin," he explained. "A-" He broke off. "Bruce?"

"He knows about Alfred, too. It's okay." _He knows practically everything,_ he groused silently. _Damn him anyway._

"Oh, okay. Well, Alfred and I were working on my costume in the back."

"A costume too? Wow. Can I see it?" _…I wonder what a kid your age would consider appropriate crime-fighting attire,_ he thought bemusedly. _Somehow I don't think your clothes are going to be as gloomy as Batman's, that's for sure._

"It's not ready yet," the boy answered. "We just got started. But…you'd really want to see it, when it's all done?" he asked, excitement visibly swelling within him.

"Sure I would," Superman acquiesced graciously. "You'll have to have Bruce call me when it's ready. Actually," he changed his tune, "you'd better have Alfred call. Bruce has a tendency to forget when he's supposed to invite me over to do things," he raised one eyebrow at the other man. _Like to meet you._ The photos he'd seen of them in the Sunday morning papers had sealed what he already suspected, driving him to come over as soon as he could manage rather than waiting for the invitation from the billionaire that he knew might take months to receive. _I knew you'd gotten to him, but for him to let himself be photographed giving someone a legitimate smile, or touching them familiarly…you have no idea how unknown that is for him, Dick. No idea. I just had to know._

"…Why? You must be friends, you wouldn't have been able to just come in like you did otherwise," Dick frowned, thinking hard. "He explained to me about the Zeta system earlier, but…you must have the code, right? And I don't think he would have given that to you if he didn't like you."

"We are friends," Superman verified. _Not that he'll ever admit it,_ he didn't add. "But to be fair, several other members of the Justice League know the Batcave coordinates, too, so I'm not exactly special in that regard."

"…The what?"

It took the Kryptonian a moment to realize what was being asked. "The Justice League," he repeated. "…You don't know about the League?"

"Huh-uh. We didn't really get much news when…where I lived before here. What…what is that? Is it something Batman's part of?" he asked eagerly. "And you? Or," he suddenly grew cautious, "am I not supposed to ask about that stuff?"

_Making him cautious already, Bruce? I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad thing…_ "You didn't tell him about the League?" he regained his full height to face the other man. "You told him about the Zeta system, but not about the whole reason you have an extension of it down here?"

"It didn't seem necessary at this juncture. All he was aware of was that I know you." _Although I suppose if I'm going to teach him even basic defensive measures I should explain how he can defend himself against other members of the League,_ he pondered. _After all, if any of them were to go rogue and try to take out the rest of us this is likely one of the first places they'd come to. Just because he knows about them doesn't mean that they need to be aware of him._

"You helped build the cave! Well, make it bigger at least," Dick beamed upwards.

"I did," Superman nodded. "So you know about that, too, huh?"

"Alfred and Bruce told me all about it. That was really nice of you to help them so they didn't have to bring in someone they couldn't trust," he opined.

…_Trust? You say that as if Bruce actually __admitted__ that he trusts me. _He knew he did, of course, but it still wasn't something that had ever been said. "Well, I wouldn't want them to put themselves at risk unnecessarily."

"Oh, good," the child said firmly. "Me, either. I'm glad we agree."

"…So am I." Lowering himself to the child's height again, the Kryptonian watched him for a long moment before dispensing the warning that was clawing at the front of his brain. _This little one's eager, and from what I've read online about him he's probably pretty talented, too. With the right training – Batman training – he could be amazing in the field. But not if he gets himself maimed or killed before he's ready to be out. _"Look, I know this is probably going to be the opposite of what you want to hear, but…don't rush things, okay? No matter how much you want to go out on patrol, you can learn a _lot_ from Batman. He's by far one of the best fighters I've ever encountered. When he says you're ready…_that's_ when you'll really be ready, Dick. I say that as a friend, just so you know; he didn't ask me to or anything like that. Okay?" _Don't screw this up. Don't get yourself killed, please. He's being kind of weird right now, but I know you've changed him somehow, and in a big way. He just __feels__ less cold and dissatisfied with life. I don't want to see him have to try and deal with something awful happening to you; I don't think he'd take it well. The world needs Batman and…well, maybe Batman needs Robin. But not until you're ready._

He seemed to truly mull over what had been said for a second before he answered. "…Okay," he nodded once. "I'll remember that, Superman."

"Master Dick, are you returning to-" Alfred appeared from the back of the cave just then, pulling up as if in surprise when he espied the Kryptonian. "Ah, Mister Kent! Lovely to see you as always."

"Hello, Alfred." _…The kid's listening hard,_ he could tell almost without looking. _He seems to have a heck of a knack for reading people. Maybe that's what lets him wriggle into everyone who meets him's hearts…Alfred wasn't wrong about that, that's for sure._ "I just swung by to meet Dick here."

"Of course," the butler nodded as if he had expected nothing less. "I hope you've nearly finished, however, as it is quickly nearing bedtime."

"…But Bruce said I could work the radio tonight," the child mentioned, a slight pout forming.

The billionaire winced internally. "…I did say that," he confessed. "But I didn't expect visitors, either. I probably won't be going out for a little while yet, kiddo; why don't you go ahead to bed, and you can be on the radio tomorrow night?"

"Perhaps it would be a better idea if you weren't to stay up so late on what will become school nights before we know it," Alfred insisted.

…_Yeah, but that's not really fair. I __did__ tell him he could be on the radio, and I __don't__ want him feeling useless and running off like…like I thought he had,_ he swallowed hard. "How about a compromise?" he put forth. "Until you actually start school, you can run the radio on weekend nights and _one_ other night per week. You still get to do the jobs we talked about earlier every day, but you have to go to bed at your normal time. What do you think?" _Don't fight me on this,_ his eyes flashed towards the butler. _Not right now. Please._

"Will…will you still tuck me into bed on the nights when I have to go to sleep early?" Dick pled with wide, soulful eyes.

…_You're tucking him into bed at night? Bruce, that's…that's so cute. Very un-you, but…very cute,_ Clark held back a delighted grin. _I can just see it, too. You do a good job of hiding the teddy bear part of your personality, but he's got a lock on it, it sounds like._

"I…" His eyes slid to the other hero, whom he could tell hadn't missed the fact that he and the boy already had a nightly ritual. _I can't say no, though,_ he thought wildly, desperate to somehow maintain his alter ego's reputation without hurting or confusing the child._ He'll misunderstand if I try and brush it off in front of Clark, and I do __not__ want him feeling like I don't want him again. Anything but that. _"…Of course I will, chum," he gave in. "But tonight I'm going to let Alfred take you to bed, since Clark can't go upstairs in those clothes and I need to talk to him."

"…Okay. But you'll check in later, right?"

"I will. And you know what to do if you have a bad dream."

"I do," he nodded.

"Go with him, then, and go to sleep," he waved him off.

"Sure." Before he turned to follow the Englishman upstairs, however, Dick turned back to the Kryptonian. "It…it was _so_ cool to get to meet you, Superman," he admitted, color rising into his cheeks once more.

"I'm glad I got to meet you, too…Robin," the man smiled back. "We'll see each other again soon."

"Really? Like…any idea when?" was queried ecstatically.

A look towards the billionaire told Clark that it would be a _very_ long time before his next visit if he tried to answer that authoritatively. "Whenever Bruce says," he settled. _…There, you can't be mad at me for that. I gave you full control._

"Bruce?!"

"…Soon enough, Dicky. Now go to bed."

"Okay," he sighed, then skipped the few steps over and wrapped his arms around his guardian's waist in a tight hug. "Good night. Bye, Superman. I hope I see you soon!"

"Bye, Dick," he gave him a little wave as he skipped up the stairs and out of sight at the Englishman's request.

"…Until next time, then, Mister Kent," the older man nodded before following his younger charge.

"Right. Thanks, Alfred," Clark gave him a meaningful look. _I'm betting that you heard me out here and sent Dick to see. I appreciate it. _Finally he turned back to his friend. "…I won't stay much longer," he conceded. "I know you're busy. But Bruce?"

"…Yeah?" _Of course he asked about flying first,_ he steamed over the events of the past ten minutes. _And the way you two hit it off just now…I knew it was a safe bet that you'd get along, but that was ridiculous. I'm glad you like him – I really am, oddly enough – but…I wish you hadn't hit it off quite so naturally. And now he's all excited to see you again…he didn't get excited to see __Batman__ again. What's so great about you, anyway? Christ. _

"Your kid is ridiculously adorable."

"I know that. What else?"

"Ah…smart, funny, and honest? I just met him, I can't say much more than that," Superman shrugged, thinking that the other man had been asking his opinion on other aspects of Dick's character.

"No," the billionaire shook his head in annoyance. "I meant what else did you come here for."

"Oh. Nothing. That was it. But you said you had something you wanted to talk about?"

He had had, but now that there was a ball of jealous feelings in the pit of his stomach he was much more hesitant to broach the topic. _If it didn't have to do with Dick, this would be a lot easier. "_You could tell he wants to go out on patrol," he managed eventually.

"He made it pretty obvious."

"I'm not letting him."

"Well of course you aren't, he would need trained first. I didn't think you'd let an untrained child out in the field with you. That's part of why I said what I said; I wanted to reinforce what I figured you're already planning."

"I'm not planning on training him in anything other than defensive tactics. I do _not _want him running around after dangerous people." _Especially not right now, with Zucco still on the loose and god only knows what kind of nefarious plan running through his head._

"…That's an admirable and understandable sentiment, Bruce, but I think you're hard pressed to keep him from wanting to fight at your side. You're giving him a hell of a parental standard to live up to; you can't possibly be surprised by the fact that he wants to try and live up to it."

"…'Parental standard,'" he muttered, tasting the first word in particular.

"Like it or not, he defers to you the way any child would their parent," Clark shrugged. "The way he went straight to you when he came out into the light, how he kept checking what he was saying by looking at you…" He smiled. "..His concern about _you_ being the one to tuck him in. That all screamed parental attachment. On that note, how are things with CPS?"

"…They're shit, Clark."

"Anything I can-"

"No," he cut him off. "…I need to get ready for patrol." _Before that, though, I'm going upstairs and taking tucking kiddo in back from Alfred,_ he huffed. _I'm not going to let you keep me away from him, especially at such an important time of day._

"…Oh. Right," he nodded. "My apologies, I did say I wouldn't keep you." _Still, why do I feel like you're mad at me for something? I didn't do anything other than show up unannounced, and you didn't seem angry about that while I was talking to Dick…well, there's been a lot going on in his life lately. Maybe he's just tired._ "I don't know how well your excuse will hold for a _third_ meeting," he pointed out as he moved back towards the Zeta tube. "…Maybe you should bring Robin with you, let the others meet him."

"He's not doing fieldwork. That costume isn't to leave the cave, not even to go to the mountain. And _don't_ tell anyone else about any of this!"

…_What's the point of a disguise that you only wear where everyone already knows who you really are? _he puzzled. _I'd hoped you'd worked everything out, but…it looks like you escaped one pit of quicksand only to fall right into another. _"Okay," he held his hands up placatingly. "I won't say anything to anyone. All right?"

"…Fine."

"See you next week, then," the Kryptonian offered, hoping that their farewell might at least have a semblance of non-annoyance in it.

"Yeah."

He wanted to stay and inquire as to what had the other man so seemingly irked all of a sudden, but restrained himself. _It will either go away on its own or come out when he's ready,_ he knew. _That's how these things usually work with him, anyway._ The last thing he saw before he was whisked away was his friend turning on his heel and marching towards the stairs. _…Can't miss bedtime, after all,_ he cheered. _Good for you, Bruce. You found a really fine kid, I think, and I'm glad. He's nothing less than exactly what you deserve._


	61. Chapter 61

Bruce was stabbing at his breakfast in a half-awake state when the doorbell rang the next morning. _…Who the hell?_ He glanced at his watch. _It's only eight. _"…Alfred, this feels wrong," he warned as the butler ignored the chime long enough to finish refilling his coffee.

"Agreed, sir," he nodded tersely, setting the pot down on the dishtowel he'd carried in over one arm. "I've no idea who it could be, but I'm afraid I can't put off answering it for long."

"I'm coming with you," the billionaire shoved his chair back and threw his napkin onto the table.

"Your food will cool," the Englishman advised. He knew there was nothing he could say to restrain the younger man from following him into the foyer, not when there was no explanation for the ring that had just echoed through the main part of the house, but he tried anyway out of pure habit.

"We have a microwave for a reason." With that, they both exited the dining room and headed for the front entrance, their faces wearing curiously similar expressions of caution. The curtains that obscured the tall side windows hadn't yet been pulled open for the day, lending them space to move secretly up to the portal itself. Bruce had his eye to the peephole for less than a second before his lips twisted in disgust and rage. "Randall," he breathed. "With a cop."

It was Alfred's turn to grimace. He had just opened his mouth to reply when insistent bells played twice more in quick succession, cutting him off. "I'll answer," he waved him away. "Go wake the young master, and _swiftly_." _No doubt he wound up in your room again last night, and the very worst thing we could possibly do would be to allow the wench who's come to call to discover him there._

The billionaire padded away in a silent half-jog as the butler turned back to deal with their visitors. "One moment," he called, throwing his voice so that it sounded as if he were just now approaching from the back of the building.

There was no bell this time, only the stark pounding of a fist on thick wood. "Open up!" a masculine voice called out.

_Ah, I see they've sent one of Gotham PD's more socially apt representatives this morning. Delightful. _Glancing over his shoulder to ensure that Bruce had made it out of sight, he finally unlocked the door and pulled it open. "…My goodness, I do apologize," he pasted a penitent look on his face. "I hope you weren't waiting long?"

Margine Randall sniffed and ignored his question. "I'm here with my police escort to perform an inspection of the premises and of the care being given to Richard Grayson, in order to establish the candidacy of Bruce Wayne for permanent guardianship of said ward of the state," she announced coldly. "You have no idea how far behind this is making me, so I advise that you help me keep it short."

"I assure we shall do everything in our power to assist you, but I must inquire…oughtn't we to have received some prior notice of this visit by your office? It was my understanding that such convenience time is always given except in cases where a child is believed to be in immediate danger."

"…Look, do you want this done fast, or not?" she started, crossing her arms.

"Hold on," the young-looking officer interrupted. "…You _did_ send proper notice, right?"

"I have been doing this for almost as long you've been alive. Do you really think I'd take time from my morning to drive all the way out here if I hadn't followed procedure?"

"I beg pardon, but I really don't see how," Alfred rebutted. "After all, the petition for permanent guardianship can't have been filed any earlier than Friday afternoon, and I believe that the Child Protective Services office is closed on weekends, is it not?"

She shifted, her brows drawing together angrily. "I have an order from family court telling me to perform this inspection. While it is _suggested _that notice be given to candidate families, it's not _required. _ If you really want to keep that…_kid_," she spat, "you'll let me in to do my job."

_This cannot possibly be a legitimate search,_ he was certain, _but refusing her access will make us look very suspicious. I'd much prefer to question the legalities of her entrance into the house before a judge than to argue about them here. Besides, Master Wayne has had sufficient time to move Master Dick back into his own room by now; I can't imagine what else she might find to object to._ _Nevertheless, a bit of artful stalling can't do any harm. _"Of course, Ms. Randall," he bowed slightly as he stepped back, holding the door wide for her. "I meant no harm, I assure you. It's just a bit early for guests. I'm afraid that Master Dick is still abed."

Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, a tiny tell of interest that only years of practice in reading the facial nuances of some of the best liars in the world allowed Alfred to spot. "…Is Mr. Wayne 'still abed,' too?" she asked.

"No, he rose some time ago. I believe he was nearly done with his morning repast when you rang, and has now gone back upstairs to finish dressing for the day." 

"Or to prep the boy to say what he _wants_ him to say?" she challenged, no longer bothering to try and hide her aggression.

"…I don't understand, madam," he shook his head slowly, his visage turning quizzical. "As I said a moment ago, we received no notice of your arrival, and thus we had no way of knowing that it was you at the door."

"Mm-hm," she hummed knowingly. "Show me to the boy's room. Now."

"I fear he may be rather shocked to see you here, especially if he isn't awake yet," he warned. "I hate to scare the poor child."

"It's. Required," she bit off each word. "_Now._"

"…Very well," he gave in. "If you'll follow me, please." _You __must__ have gotten him across the hall by now, Bruce,_ he begged silently as they mounted the stairs. _Please, she __cannot__ find him in your room…_ "Ah, Master Wayne," he greeted with a discreet look as the billionaire turned from the master suite into the hallway. "We have some visitors."

"So I see. Ms. Randall," he nodded to her as he shrugged on his suit coat. "Officer…Lacey," was read off of the policeman's name tag. "What's with the 8am house call?"

"This is your permanent guardianship inspection," Margine answered flatly.

"…That was fast," he said, legitimately surprised but nonetheless pleased. "Good. I want to get this all wrapped up so Dick can start to really feel like everything's settled. I appreciate the speed with which your office responded to my attorneys' application." In spite of the way his muscles had tightened with ire when he'd spotted her outside, it didn't take much effort to be polite to her right off; since then, he'd gotten a sleepy nuzzle from his boy and, he was fairly certain at least, had set everything up to pull the wool over the eyes of CPS. As unprepared for her arrival as they'd been, he thought they'd done a good job recovering before anything damning could be uncovered. "What can I do to help speed you on your way?"

"Show me the child," she answered, watching him suspiciously.

"…I think he's still asleep," he mused. "Do you want me to wake him up?" _Again,_ he didn't add, nearly grinning as he remembered how the youth had just held his arms up in a silent request to be carried when he'd been informed of why he had to go back to his own room immediately. Bruce had taken him, of course, whispering advice into his ear as he carted him across the hall. When the child had been prepared, he'd brushed a hand over his hair for the briefest of seconds, silent encouragement for the act to come, and then rushed back to the master closet to cover up his real reason for being upstairs.

"I'll wake him, thank you. Which room is his?"

"Right there," he jerked his head at the correct door. "Please knock, though. You'll scare him if you just burst in unannounced."

"You know that from _experience_, do you?"

"Only from the experience of also becoming uneasy when someone, particularly a stranger, comes into my sleeping space without warning," he shot back. "It's a pretty common thing, I've heard."

"Hmph." With that, both she and the policeman moved to where Bruce had indicated. Rolling her eyes, Randall gave a short, sharp tap, then went in without waiting for an answer. Alone in the corridor for a second, the two adult residents of the manor exchanged a glance before they followed. "Wake up!" they heard ordered as they entered just in time to see her give the curled figure beneath the blankets a none-too-gentle shake.

"Wha…huh?!" he gasped, scooting back across the bed as fast as he could. "What…you…where's Bruce? I want Bruce," he begged.

"I'm right here, chum," the billionaire called from the doorway. "I'm sorry, they insisted on seeing you right now."

"But…what do you want?" his voice shook slightly.

"You sound frightened, dearie," Margine put on a painfully sappy-sweet voice the likes of which she'd never so much as _thought_ of addressing Dick with before now. "Are you often frightened upon waking up here?"

"Only…only when…" he started. His face, still recovering from sleep and the shock of his awakening, turned dark unexpectedly. "…Only when I have nightmares about _you_."

She took a step back, her façade cracking. "Well," she tried to recover, "why would you have _those? _I've never done anything to hurt you."

"I have bad dreams about the Center. Where _you_ put me with all those mean kids," he accused tearily. _…Sorry, Bruce,_ he thought as he saw his guardian flinch near the doorway. _They aren't as bad as they were, but…I __do__ still have them sometimes, so it's not really a lie. You said to play to the policeman, and that's what I'm doing._

Indeed, the officer gave the social worker a hesitant look. "…'The Center?'" he asked.

"It was a juvenile detention facility," the billionaire threw in. "But he'd committed no crime."

"It was perfectly legal," Randall hissed, feeling cornered. "I had nowhere else to assign him, and there are laws in place for such situations."

_Yeah, but that's not why you put him there,_ Batman snarled, rising suddenly from the back of Bruce's mind. _The opinion of this cop had better be enough to end this; you do __not__ want me going after you myself._

_It won't come to that,_ Bruce replied with only vague certainty.

_If it does…_

_Since when are you this protective of him? You want to take him out on patrol to get killed, for Christ sake, and a week ago you wanted to keep me from him entirely!_

_I never wanted to send him away, though, and you know I've accepted his importance in this house since then. Randall may have been victimized as a young woman, but that doesn't excuse what she's doing now. She's a threat, and she needs to back off._

_Agreed, but let's try the regular manner first, alright? __Then__ you can rip her a new one._

…_Fine. _And with that, the vigilante slithered back into his usual recesses to watch.

"…Huh," the cop said slowly. "Go ahead, I guess, but…maybe you shouldn't go right up to the bed," he suggested, seeing how the child had begun to gnaw at his lip as he stared at the woman with the clipboard.

"Yes, well," she said lamely, sensing that the person who should have been her ally was slipping away. "You sleep in here, then?" she addressed Dick.

"Y-yes, ma'am," he answered, relaxing a bit when she kept her distance.

"…Every night?"

"Of course. Where else would I sleep?"

"And you sleep alone, correct?"

"Yes," he gave her a strange look.

"…Are you sure about that?"

"Well…" he trailed off.

"Well what?"

"Elinor sleeps with me," he confessed.

"_Elinor_," Margine repeated triumphantly, scrawling the name on her notepad. "And where is she right now?"

"She's right here!" he exclaimed, picking up the elephant and placing it on his knees. "This is Elinor. You haven't met her," his eyes narrowed, "because they kept her locked up when I was at the Center."

The CPS agent's entire demeanor drooped at the news that Elinor was a stuffed animal, and therefore couldn't be prosecuted for sharing a bed with a nine-year-old. "…I want to speak to him alone," she told the law enforcement representative.

"Why?" Bruce asked instantly.

"I don't want to be alone with you," Dick said. Even with the advance warning he'd received from Bruce, having his social worker come into his bedroom all but unannounced had been unnerving. The fright in his tone was no longer an act, and he pulled his comfort item close against his chest. _She'll twist anything I say when I'm alone with her, I know she will,_ he worried desperately. _There won't be any adults to say she's lying, and people normally don't listen to kids when a grown-up says something different. She's going to try and take me away…_

"Um…" the cop rubbed at the back of his neck, "…I'm not really sure what to do here. If he doesn't want to be alone with you, I'm not comfortable _making_ him, you know?"

"Oh, for god's sake," she swore. "Did you not _read_ the order for inspection? I have a right to question anyone in this house that I please, _especially_ if I believe that information is being withheld!"

"Well yeah, but…do you? Think that, I mean?" he asked.

"Obviously," she ground out.

"…I'm gonna have to call my sergeant. This…this is weird," he shook his head. "Everyone just stay here until I get back, okay?"

"Absolutely," Bruce agreed.

"Of course, officer," Alfred nodded.

"…Fine," Margine relented. A terse silence spun out between those left in the room after Lacey went out to get clarification. Finally the billionaire broke the silence, gesturing to the disturbed-looking youth.

"May I?" he requested, needing to do something to wipe the mildly terrified gleam in his eyes away. _I know I told you to ham it up a bit, kiddo, but this is almost too good,_ he thought. _I don't think you're really having to act anymore. She's really scaring you now, and I don't like that. Not here, especially; you were just really starting to get comfortable in your bedroom, and then this shit hit the fan. God, I hate this bitch..._

"…No speaking at volumes I can't easily hear," she snapped reluctantly. She didn't want to allow it, but she knew it wouldn't do her cause any good if the policeman came back to find the boy sobbing because she wouldn't let him be soothed.

"Thank you." He'd barely gotten himself situated on the edge of the bed when Dick slipped up under his arm and snuggled against his side, Elinor still occupying his hands. "…It's okay, kiddo," he shot the child a little smile and squeezed his shoulder gently. _She's not taking you. She doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell. You're doing great._

"Okay," Lacey announced, re-entering several minutes later. "I can send them out of the room, but I was told to stay during the interview if the person being questioned requests it."

"Please don't leave me alone with her," the boy pled. "I don't want to go back to the Center, or anywhere else. I want to stay here with Bruce and Alfred."

"That's what I'm trying to accomplish!" Margine threw up her hands.

"…Well, I still don't want to be alone with you," Dick informed her.

With a police presence, the interview should have been simple. Randall was determined to find _something_, however, a misstep, a contradiction, anything really, and grilled the boy for nearly thirty minutes before Lacey cut her off. She spoke with Bruce and Alfred privately as well, emerging from each discussion more pensive-looking than when she'd gone in as her devious brain tried to stitch together as many incriminating suppositions as possible from the scant material she was begin given. By the time she requested access to every room in the house, there was practically steam leaking from her ears.

"…Every single room, Ms. Randall?" Alfred's eyebrows shot upward. "That will take some time, provided that you inspect them all."

"It's my job to make sure that this is a safe environment for a child," she glowered. "You could be hiding god only knows what in some back corridor. I have to check _all_ of it."

Now, finally, her mood began to pick up. The door to the indoor pool had no lock on it; a back servants' stairway, out of use for so long now that even Alfred had all but forgotten it existed, lacked a handrail; the liquor cabinet in the study was unsecured from curious fingers. When she saw the gym, her eyes lit up as if she'd just won a free car, and the uneven bars along with several other 'dangerous' items went on her list despite insistences that they were strictly off limits unless there was adult supervision was present. No such rule had been set in place, of course, but there was no need for _her_ to know that.

"…Well," she concluded once they'd circled back to the front door. "I'm sure the judge will be concerned, to say the least. I have nowhere to put him now – even the Center is full currently – or I'd take him somewhere safer until my report can be processed, but as it is I guess he'll just have to stay here. Don't worry," she returned to the falsely saccharine tone she'd used towards Dick earlier, "I'll come back for you as soon as I can."

"I don't want to go anywhere with you. I want to stay here with Bruce and Alfred," he said stubbornly. "I _like_ it here."

The broad smile that statement drew across the billionaire's face quickly turned into a look of shock as the social worker took a final few seconds to point out problems that she herself had caused. "But it isn't a good environment," she told him. "…After all, here it is just after twelve o'clock on a Monday, and you're still in pajamas. You haven't eaten yet either, have you?" she asked brittly.

"Well…no," he admitted. "But you kept making us do things!"

"Your guardian could have brought up the point that you hadn't eaten yet. I'd have been happy to wait, had he been bothered enough by your hunger to mention it." She shook her head. "No wonder you're so skinny-looking," was sighed regretfully as her pen scratched across her notepad. "Evidence of malnutrition…"

_That's not fair!_ he wanted to shout. Bruce's hand landed on his shoulder, however, and he bit it back. _This is wrong. She's going to make everything sound worse than it is for real! This is bad. She can't take me. If she tries to take me, I'll…I'll run away from her. Anything. I just want to be __here__…_ His gaze fell on the exasperated-looking policeman. _Please, mister. You saw how she is. One minute she's nice, and then she's mean, and…and you know none of what she's going to say is true, so help us. Please…she can't take me away, not when I'm about to get my Robin costume and start helping Batman. Not…not when things were starting to sort of be okay again…_

A minute later the pair of public servants had departed. As soon as the door shut behind them, Bruce – now hours late for his morning meeting – knelt and turned the boy around, pulling him into a tight hug as Alfred locked the intruder and her escort out. "It's okay, Dicky," he whispered as angry tears began to wet his neck.

"It's _not_," he moaned. "She's gonna take me away, Bruce. She'll throw me back in the Center, and…and…" _And they'll kill me,_ he whined silently. _I know they will, just like they did Caleb. Why is this happening? It isn't __fair__..._

"That won't happen," he cradled the back of his head. "We have good lawyers now, remember? And besides, I don't think she has enough to get any reasonable judge to give her permission to take you from me. The problems with the house are all easily fixable, aren't they, Alfred?" he enlisted the butler's help in calming the panicking child.

"Indeed they are, sir. In fact, I made a mental list as she went through, and I believe I can have several of her complaints corrected before the end of the day. There's nothing to worry about, Master Dick, especially since I believe that policeman was rather against her by the end. That may come in handy."

"Yeah. Remember him, kiddo? He won't let her say things that he knows weren't true," the billionaire soothed. "And you know who _else_ is going to make sure this doesn't go a step further?"

"Wh-wh-who?"

"Batman."

_About time. Too bad you let her leave,_ the vigilante sneered.

_Wait for it. This has to be done carefully._

_I know. I have a plan._

_Good._

"…But that's _dangerous_!" Dick pushed away and gasped at him, wiping his eyes. "You can't, she'll figure out who you are!"

"She won't," he promised. "I have a plan."

He sniffled, then accepted the handkerchief Alfred offered him and blew his nose. "…Can Robin help?" he requested, his voice steadying. "I don't want her to hurt anyone else, Bruce. I want to help you."

_Damn it. Well…maybe if I let you help with this, I can wrap up Zucco while you aren't looking. Besides, this is going to be more psychological warfare than actual battle, so…_ "Robin can help," he deemed after a long moment.

The smile he'd been waiting to see all morning appeared, chasing away any uncertainty he felt about the surprise inspection that had just occurred. "…I won't let you down," the boy swore.

"…I know you won't, kiddo," he held his gaze as he spoke. "I have complete confidence in that."


	62. Chapter 62

"…Bruce?" Dick ventured that evening, picking at his pot roast pensively.

"What's up, chum?" the billionaire replied, glancing up at him. _Alfred said you were pretty quiet all day after I left,_ he recalled. _I know she upset you, showing up the way she did – she caught me off guard, too – but I wish I could make you really believe that I'm __not__ going to let her take you from me._

"Um…well, I was thinking about something."

"Yeah?"

"It's just…there's a big fence all around us, right?"

"Right."

"And there's just the one gate at the bottom of the driveway."

"Right."

"So…how did they get in this morning? Mr. Anaxas had to knock down part of the fence, but they just drove right up!" he exclaimed.

"Well, kiddo, it's complicated," Bruce started slowly. "The gate is shut at all times, unless we're having a special event. The only people who can get through are those who have a special chip in their car, like all of our vehicles do, or who have a code. Not too many people have their own code, which means that they have to call up to the house if they want to come in, but a few do. Leslie has one, and…Clark, who you met last night," an oddly discomforted look flitted across his face as he recalled the previous evening's meeting, "and the police. The police only have one because the Commissioner made a comment at a party a few years back that emergency services couldn't get to us quickly if no one was able to buzz them through. I didn't _have_ to give them one, but it would have looked strange if I hadn't after that. I played pretend that I'd never thought about it before and had Alfred program them in. That's probably why Randall brought the officer with her today, was so she could come up unannounced."

"…But that means that any of the police could know how to get in here, right? I mean…I know cops are supposed to be good and stuff, but what if one of them _wasn't_? They'd still have the code, and they could get in."

"Ninety-nine percent of the police in Gotham don't have access to those records. At least, that's what the Commissioner told me when I raised the same concern." He sent the boy a tiny smile, pleased that he had picked up on that potential hole in the manor's security. "According to him, there's a book of codes for things like private gates and high-security buildings that only the on-duty emergency dispatch manager has access to. When a call comes in from an officer asking for the numbers they need in order to get in somewhere, the manager has to be the one to give it to them. On top of that," he reassured him, "we reset the police code every week, so even if someone got ahold of it somehow it would only be good for a short time. And we also change it any time it gets used, like it did the other night when they came to get Anaxas. In fact…Alfred," he asked as the butler came in to check on his charges, "did you change the emergency numbers for the gate today?"

"Of course, Master Wayne. I did so just as soon as our…visitors…departed. Why, is there some concern about its reuse?"

"Dick was just asking how Randall got in earlier, that's all. I was briefing him about the gate."

"Ah, very good. There's no need to worry, young sir; the dispatcher would not have given out the code this morning without verifying that there was either an active call to 911 or a court order first. Although I still maintain that we should have been given at least a day's notice of the visit. You may wish to bring that up to the attorneys at your meeting with them tomorrow," he directed to Bruce.

"I was planning on it."

"You're seeing them tomorrow?! Can…can I go with you again?" Dick asked, suddenly eager. _I like them. They're trying to help us._

"…I'm kind of surprised that you _want_ to, after our run-in with Anaxas last time," the billionaire said.

"Well…he's in jail now, right?"

"Ah…" _Shit. I don't want to scare him, but I don't want to lie to him, either._ "He posted bail this morning. He's still in a lot of trouble," he added as the child's eyes widened slightly. "He has to go in front of a judge to answer for what he did, and after looking over the security camera footage they've charging him with stalking on top of the other things. I was informed this afternoon that he's under strict orders not to come within camera range of any of us, indefinitely. He's technically not in jail right now, but he'd also be a complete idiot to try and do anything at all involving us."

"He was stupid enough to knock a tree down over an electric fence and then climb over it in the middle of the night," the boy pointed out.

"I thought that was kind of brilliant of him," Bruce shrugged as he skewered a bite of carrot. "It honestly hadn't occurred to me that someone would do that, or I'd never have left trees standing close enough for it to work."

"I've arranged for the area within fifty yards of the fence to be clear-cut beginning tomorrow morning, sir," Alfred informed them. "Mr. Anaxas' little stunt shan't be repeated."

"…Even idiots can have good ideas sometimes," Dick mumbled, resting his cheek in one hand as he used his fork to separate the threads of cooked muscle that made up his roast.

"What?" the billionaire asked, sounding amused.

"It's…just something my dad used to say. Even…even idiots can have good ideas sometimes." He kept his eyes averted as he repeated himself. _I don't care so much about the pictures, it's just…he's intimidating. He's big and mean, and even though I know you could totally kick his butt as Batman you can't do anything when you aren't in costume because you'll get in trouble and then I'll get taken away. All you can do is call the police, and then they can only get in because they have the code for the gate, but that means that they can let __her__ in, too, just like they did this morning, and…and…__why__? _"…Bruce, I don't understand any of this," he whispered, then pushed his plate away and let his forehead rest against the edge of the table, his arms wrapping around his suddenly-upset stomach.

"…Dicky, what-?" _What is this, kiddo? You've been doing so good the last couple of days, even with that little outburst on Saturday night…_

"I just don't _get_ it!" A tangled confusion had been building in the back of his mind all day, becoming more and more insistent with each passing hour. Now it rolled over all of his other emotions, smashing them together so that he didn't know _what_ he was feeling. He wrestled with it for a moment – _don't, it's going to upset Bruce, and I don't want to do that. Besides, if he thinks I can't deal with this he won't want me to be Robin, even just on the radio. Batman goes after very, very bad people, way worse than Anaxas, so what good will I be if I cry every time something not nice happens? – _but it was all too much. Hot tears began to drip from the ends of his eyelashes, soaking into the fine linen that he'd dutifully spread across his lap when he sat down. 

Bruce gaped across the table for a moment, then looked to Alfred. _…Help? Why is he crying? The news about Anaxas isn't ideal, but it isn't __that__ bad, either._ The butler, however, merely gave him an expectant look before turning and leaving the room. _Great. Thanks._ Finally he stood up and circled around to the seat directly beside the child, running a hand up and down his shaking back in an effort to soothe him. "Okay, kiddo," he breathed, completely befuddled. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

"'M s-_sorry_," he gave a high-pitched whine. "It's j-just not f-f-fair!"

"I know," the billionaire simply agreed. _…Is he talking about his parents again, or is this more than that? Either way he's completely right, but I don't know how to break it to him that __life's__ not fair. Although I suppose he's figuring that out on his own to an extent..._ "Dick," he shifted closer, "talk to me. Alfred said you spent all day in the library and on your uneven bars, so that leads me to think that something was bothering you before what I said just now. So what is it?"

"It's just," he sniffled, "just…_everything_. I mean…not my parents, even though _that_ wasn't fair, either, but…well, wasn't that _enough_? Couldn't…couldn't things have just gone smoothly after that? Why couldn't I just come here, and live with you and Alfred, and maybe even be Robin, and just…just be _happy_? Instead I got a mean social worker – no, a _crappy_ social worker, I know I'm probably not supposed to say that but she _is_ – who threw me into a bad place and is still trying to put me back there. And then the photographer, and all the people at the party on Saturday, and…what did I do to deserve all of that?" he asked the last hoarsely, raising his head to stare at the man beside him pleadingly. "What did I do wrong?"

Bruce's chest ached as he leaned over and bodily lifted the child onto his lap, wrapping him in an embrace. "You didn't do anything, baby," he murmured against his hair. "You just…got the short end of the stick in some ways, that's all. I know it doesn't feel that way now, but you didn't do _anything_ wrong. Nothing you could possibly do would be bad enough to deserve what's happened lately, I promise." Sitting there, he recalled the long nights of his own childhood and adolescence, the dark hours when he'd asked himself the same exact questions that Dick had just given voice to. He'd only breathed the thought once to Alfred, and the Englishman had looked so uncomfortably pained by the inquiry that he'd refrained from repeating it even when he felt as if he needed assurance of his innocence more than he did oxygen. _I don't want you to suffer through that, chum,_ he begged silently. _I remember how lonely that was…you're strong, I know you are, but I don't think you could handle feeling that isolated, that…that guilty. _

He wondered for the barest instant whether he himself had really handled it, then shoved it aside. _This isn't about me. This is about keeping Dick from __becoming__ me. That's…that's the whole point._ "Kiddo, look at me," he levered his chin upwards until their equally moist eyes met. "You need to understand that no matter how good you are, bad things are sometimes going to happen. What's worse than that is that sometimes good things are going to happen to people whom you know are very, very bad. But that doesn't mean it's your fault. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, things go bad, and it's out of your control. That's true for you, and it's true for me. All you can do is your best, Dicky. No one can rightly fault you for that."

"…I don't want bad things to happen to good people. That's why I want to be Robin."

"I know," he sighed. "You told me before about wanting to help people. And I'm glad for that, I really am. But you can't help everyone, all the time. Sometimes you have to pick and choose, and that's incredibly difficult."

"…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…Why did you pick me to keep bad things from happening to?"

The question stymied him. "I…it just felt right. It's not the most logical decision I've ever made, but…"

"But you're glad you did, right?"

_So glad,_ he thought, squeezing him silently. _Even if I do feel like I'm failing you in so many ways…Randall…Anaxas…myself…_

"…Me, too," Dick said, having understood the tightening of the arms around him as an affirmative response to his question. As he rested his head on the man's shoulder again, a thought occurred, a reframing of his situation that he hadn't considered before. "…Gosh, I guess when you really think about it not all that much of bad stuff has happened to me, after all."

The billionaire started. "_What?!"_

"Well, you're _Batman_," the child argued. "One of the most amazingestly awesome heroes in the whole world. And even when you aren't in costume, you're still super rich, and super powerful. If _you_ couldn't stop the things that have happened since I came here, how much _worse_ would it have been if you hadn't picked me? Right?"

He was so busy enjoying the ego stroking that it took him a minute to respond. "You, ah…you could have a point there," he answered slowly. _Although really, I'm the reason most of those problems occurred. If I hadn't been the one who took you in, the issues with Anaxas and at the fundraiser wouldn't have happened at all. As for the Center…well, I can't say that wouldn't have happened, because you were already there before I made my decision about you. In hindsight the only way to have avoided __all__ of those things would have been if you'd been allowed to stay with the circus. And that's how it should have been, maybe. Probably._

For all his certainty that that was what would have been just, though, the idea made his throat tighten. _But then you wouldn't be here, and…I don't want to give you back, Dick. I know they won't let you go back to the circus now unless a blood relative showed up to claim you and took you back, but…_ The fear that had been haunting the shadows of his consciousness since he'd first roused it on Friday night struck suddenly, and a query he hadn't intended to bring into the light of day slipped from his lips. "…What would you do if someone who was related to you showed up? If they wanted to take care of you?"

The youth frowned deeply. "…I don't have anybody but you, Bruce," he said frankly.

_No one…but me,_ the man bit the inside of his cheeks until he tasted blood, trying to keep his mouth from trembling. "Academically speaking, though," a masochistic part of himself pushed on. "If someone blood-related to you showed up tomorrow morning and said they could return you to the circus…would you go?" _Say no. Say no. Please, god, say no…_

Dick was silent for a long time. "I wouldn't know that person," he said finally. "…I don't _have_ any blood relatives, and even if I did…they'd be strangers. The circus…I don't know. It's…I…I miss the circus, but…it wouldn't be the same," he whispered. "Without them…I miss Pop, and I miss Tanti, but without mom and dad I…I don't think I could stand it. None of them could ever understand. They'd try, I know they would, but…they're not like you. They're not like _us_."

"…You'd stay here?"

"…I think I would, Bruce. Is…is that okay?"

"You bet it is, chum," he tightened his arms around him. _Thank you. You deserve so much better than I can ever give you, and the fact that you want to stay in spite of that only makes my debt that much heavier, but…thank you. Thank you so much._

"…Do you feel better now?"

The billionaire chuckled. "I'm supposed to be asking you that, aren't I?"

"I'm okay," he shrugged. "Well…I'm better, I guess. Not…not really _okay, _but…better. I still want to go with you to see the lawyers tomorrow, even though Anaxas is free." _I'm still scared of him, kind of, but…if I go, that means I get to spend time with you before you're supposed to get off work. That's worth it._

_My brave boy._ "…Let's play it by ear, okay? I don't know what Alfred has planned for tomorrow, and I don't know what we're meeting to discuss for sure." _If they've called me in to tell me that they aren't going to be able to get me custody of you…_ He shuddered at the idea. _That's not how I want you to hear it. Just…no. I want to check and make sure it __isn't__ bad news before I agree to take you._

"Then…" Dick began before trailing off. "Would you tell me what your plan is to stop my social worker from taking me away? Please? And maybe…maybe I could help you with it, like we talked about this morning? That would help me feel better, too." He turned an imploring gaze upwards, and Bruce didn't stand a chance.

"I did agree that you could help me, didn't I?" he gave in. "…I'll tell you what. Eat a few more bites of your dinner," he pulled the half-full plate over, "then we'll head downstairs and I'll tell you all about Margine Randall."

"The Wicked Witch of Gotham City," the boy tacked on as he picked up his fork, tacitly agreeing to his guardian's proposal. "…Was that mean of me to say?" he asked a second later.

"Sometimes the truth is harsh, Dick. That doesn't make it any less factual." He paused. "I would say that you shouldn't call her that around Alfred, but he'd probably appreciate it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"…I'll remember that, then. Alfred should smile more, just like you should." His pronouncement complete and feeling a twinge of appetite now that Bruce had lifted a great deal of the weight he'd been carrying all day from his shoulders, he stuffed his cheeks with the butler's cold but still delicious entrée.

Noting the youth's renewed interest in the food before him, the billionaire felt a slight smile wreath his face. _…With you around, kiddo, I think we're hard pressed to not to. So long as you keep smiling, so will we._


	63. Chapter 63

"…So, what's the plan?" the boy asked as he bounced down the stairs to the cave behind his guardian.

"Take a seat and I'll show you," Bruce replied, leading him towards the computer stations. "…Now," he began slowly, then paused. _…How the hell am I supposed to explain that the woman who's been being so god-awful nasty to him these past two weeks was a victim herself at one point?_ he grimaced. _If he's going to help me with this he has to know the basics, but I don't want to get into the rape discussion if we can avoid it. I don't even know if he knows about sex, let alone sexual assault._ "…To start with," he tried again, "you aren't the first kid she's put in a detention center when they didn't belong there."

"…Okay," Dick nodded hesitantly. "That's…not good." _But it kind of makes me feel better a little, too,_ he thought with a twinge of guilt. _At least this way I know it isn't just __me__ that she hates._ "Do we know _why_ she likes to put innocent people in, well, jail?"

"I have a strong suspicion," the billionaire said, skirting the core of the matter. "All of the people she's done this too…they all look like you, kiddo. Now, this is just a hunch, but based on what I've learned about her I think someone who resembles you hurt her when she was younger." _Can I leave it at that? I think I can, he doesn't need the details. _"The person who did that was never caught, and I would bet that she's been trying to make up for it ever since. All of the kids she's stuck in 'jail,' as you put it, have not only looked like you, but you've all looked like the only description we have of the person most likely to have assaulted her."

"…Oh. Well…I feel bad that she got hurt, but if it wasn't a kid's fault then why take it out on us just for the way we _look_?" the youth queried. "Plus…well, you and I kind of look alike, too, right? So why isn't she afraid of _you_, especially if it was a grown-up who did something to her to start with?"

"I…don't know," Bruce frowned, caught off guard by the last question. "That's a very good point. The man who I'm assuming was the one that went after her and a few other women was supposedly skinny; maybe that's it, I just don't have the right build to set off her alarms," he mused, then shook his head. "I don't think we'll be able to answer that for sure without more information. As for punishing you and the other children for a crime committed well before any of you were born…she may not realize that she's selecting children who look alike, and is just doing it subconsciously. On the other hand this could all be rooted in her bad experience, and she could be targeting you all specifically _because _you all look like her probable assailant. She's wrong either way, of course, but one of those explanations is a hell of a lot more understandable than the other."

"Bad word," came a warning.

"…Don't repeat it. And don't tell Alfred." _Although that's hardly the most offensive thing I could say while we're talking about this bitch._

Dick drew his pinched fingers across his lips, sealing them, and then mimed throwing away a key. "Promise," he swore, pleased to share yet another secret with the man across from him. "Okay, so…somebody hurt her a long time ago, and never got caught, and now she's going after kids who look like the person who maybe did it and throwing us into jail when we didn't do anything. Got it. But…" His face paled suddenly.

"…Dick? What's wrong?" _You look like you're about to throw up._

"Well…I'm not at the Center anymore, right? So…do you think she stuck some other poor person there instead?" His eyes widened. "What if she puts them with Kevin?! He'll hurt them, Bruce, like he did me! Or worse even!" He jumped down from his chair and latched onto one of his guardian's arms, trying to pull him up. "We have to get them out of there!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey," the billionaire calmed him, grabbing both thin wrists in his own free hand. He reeled the boy in until he was standing right against his knees, then let his palms come down on narrow shoulders. "Calm down."

"But-!"

"This is that decision making I was talking about earlier, Dicky," he said quietly. "I believe that she _has_ put someone else in the place she meant for you. I don't know that for certain, but based on what she said this morning about not taking you with her because she didn't have room it seems like a reasonable assumption. Now, could Batman rush down to the Center and pull this kid out? Sure he could. But then what would happen? I couldn't bring him here, that's for sure. I couldn't let him loose on the streets to get hurt by some bad guy or be picked up by the police and thrown right back in the Center, this time with a mark on his record. And besides that, what she's doing is technically legal; if we pull one person out, she'll just chuck another in. Plus, if Batman is known to be involved in this she may very well connect us. It wouldn't be such a great leap of logic to make, and she's no dummy; I get the feeling that no one has paid any attention to the others she's done this to, and that really only leaves me as a possibility if people start sniffing around." _But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it,_ he kept to himself. _Once I have the proof I need to bring her down, we'll figure out how to present it._

"You're rich, you could have _hired_ Batman to look into what she did to me because you thought it was wrong and couldn't possibly be legal," Dick countered immediately.

"…Yes, I could use that excuse. I very well may use it, especially if this gets bad enough that Batman has to pay her a visit personally. She's all but guaranteed to question his involvement once it's known. But for right now, chum, we can't go flying off the handle. We have to be cautious, and make our case first. Even if we could save the person she put at the Center in your place, doing so would endanger the entire mission, which is to get her to stop doing that altogether and, hopefully, get her out of the social services field. If we save this one right now, we might be condemning dozens more. Do you understand?"

The boy stared at his face for a long moment, trying to come to terms with the difficult lesson before him. _I get it, but…gosh, Bruce, that's so hard. I mean…I've been in that kid's exact situation, and even if he's older than me, it still has to be really awful for him. I don't want to leave anyone in that place, because I remember how scary it was. But…it's like you said, too. How many more will she do this to if we don't stop her? And it sounds like she's already hurt so many…crud._ "I…I think I understand. I'm working on it, at least," he bit his lip. "But…do you think we can try and hurry just a _little_, so we can maybe get him out of there faster without…how did you put it…'endangering the mission?'"

"We're going to do everything we can, kiddo," he tightened his fingers briefly on his shoulders, then released him. "Now, the plan."

"Yes! Tell me about that."

"We've established that, so far as we know at least, everything she's doing is legal. Questionable, certainly, but legal. That makes it very difficult for us to attack her straight on. My going to her as Batman and warning her to stop is too risky at this point, for the reasons we've already talked about. Plus, I don't think that will do anything but make her determined to continue. Without proof that she's taking kids to the Center for a more sinister reason than there simply being no beds elsewhere, there's no good angle on her. But," he added as the boy's expression became crestfallen, "there's another person we can look at."

"…There is? Who?"

"The Director of the Center."

"What's he got to do with it? Wait a minute," he remembered, his face growing thoughtful. "…My social worker said _he_ was the one who gave the order for me to be put in with Kevin! I didn't think about it at the time, but…are they working together?"

"Exactly," Bruce smirked fiercely under a swell of pride."And I'm glad that you remember her saying that; if it ever gets to a point where you have to testify about what happened at the Center, that might be important." _Lionel told me the same thing you just did, and it's not going to hurt to have two witnesses who can back each other up._ "They're working together to put CPS cases who haven't done anything into the Center and then leave them there as long as possible. She said that you were their first 'test-case,' but she's put an awful lot of other kids in that place, so I'm not sure that I believe her. In any case, it's their idea of a pre-emptive rehabilitation program for children that _they_ think are prone to future criminal activity. They're also…lovers…or at least I'm pretty sure that they are. That alone probably wouldn't be enough to get them fired, but that _plus_ their plan might be, especially if we can show that Randall's choice of children for the program is tied directly to their resemblance to the man who was never caught all those years ago. I have a little bit of evidence already – a _very_ little – but we need more. Now," he turned his speech around into a question, "how do you think that can be done?"

Dick startled. "You…you want _my_ opinion?" he asked, stunned.

"Yes. I do. Tell me a good way to get the proof we need." _If you're going to help me you might as well start learning a little methodology, and the best way to do that is to put it into practice._

"Um…well…" His forehead drew down as he contemplated the possibilities for a long, wordless minute. "…What if they wrote it down? Like…you know, what they wanted to do? Their whole plan? Do you think they might have done that? They could have it in one of their offices, or even at home. If they did that, and Batman got a hold of it…would that be enough?"

"It would be a good start, that's for sure. And," he added, "that's _exactly_ what Batman's going to try and do tonight."

"…You're going to sneak into their offices and try and find their plans?"

"Or anything else incriminating, yes. At this point, Dick, I don't care _what_ we get them – particularly her – on, so long as we catch them at something big enough that they never hold a positions of power over the lives of children again. In order to do this, though, I'm going to need Robin's help. _Not_ in the field," he clarified quickly, "but here on the radio."

Eyes bright, Dick shuffled a tiny bit closer. "Just tell me what to do," he breathed. "Anything. Except…well, my costume isn't ready yet. Alfred said he needs another day. Is that…is that okay?"

"Can you act like Robin without it?"

The boy hesitated. "…If I say yes, do I still get my costume when it's done?"

Bruce laughed and ruffled his hair. "Alfred will be ticked if he goes through all the work of making you one and then I don't let you wear it. You can still have it, kiddo. As for what to do, you and I are going to work on that together right now. What kind of information do you think we need to find out?"

"You need to know how to get in," came back quickly. "And…I guess about security? I can tell you a little about that, though, about the Center," he volunteered. "I remember some things from while I was there."

"Good. Tell me everything you know. Are there guards at night?" _…That's convenient, and impressive,_ the billionaire thought appreciatively. _I didn't think you'd recall any of it, or want to if you did, after the state we found you in._ He suppressed a shudder as a vision of the curled ball of boy they'd found hunched and trembling on a thin mattress in a too-large jumpsuit flashed behind his eyes. _It's hard to believe that you're that same kid, chum,_ he marveled. _You've recovered so well, and so quickly…if we can get Randall off of our backs and Zucco in prison, who knows how much brighter you could shine…_

"I don't think they were really guards," he answered. "They had night staff that patrolled the hallways, but I never heard anyone say they were guards. The cell doors lock at eight o'clock, and the only ones who can open them unless a fire alarm goes off are the night people. If there's noise in a cell, they don't go in unless they absolutely have to. I never saw them, but I don't think that there were many of them. Then there's the nurses in the infirmary, that must have someone in it all night because…because Caleb told me to go there when I got back from…yeah," he sighed. _Don't think about Caleb. Just…we've just got to try and keep anyone else from becoming like him._ "Well, there must be someone there all the time, too. You saw all the gates and locked doors and stuff when you came to get me. I don't know much about the rooms inside," he apologized. "They moved me around a lot, and I…I wasn't really paying attention. I wish I _had_ been, now."

"You didn't know you'd be sitting here in less than three weeks looking for a way to get back _into_ the Center," Bruce reminded. "And you have a lot on your mind. Don't be too hard on yourself. You just gave me a lot of good information."

"Thanks," he smiled happily, then sobered. "But this is just the Center; what about CPS? I don't know _anything_ about that place, I never even saw it!"

"The Center comes first," was said firmly. "I think the director is our weakest link, and I also think I'm more likely to find helpful information there than at CPS. Now that you've given me a good idea of who I might see in the hallways, that pretty much only leaves getting me in and then to the Director's office for us to figure out."

"But that's the hard part. How are you going to do that? All the windows I saw were barred."

"…Kiddo," the billionaire gave him a sly look as he nudged a computer back to life, "I think it's about time you saw Batman's very favorite website. Bring your chair over." _…Or just sit on me. That works, I guess,_ he chuckled to himself as Dick ignored the order and clambered onto his knee instead.

"…Batman's favorite website? What is it?" He peered at the screen as an address was quickly typed and the page loaded. "…'Gotham City Planning Department, Office of the Inspector?'" he read, then turned a confused eye to the man he was sharing a seat with. "I don't get it. What's so great about this website?"

"Blueprints, chum. All the plans and building notes for every single public edifice in the city have been available online since the middle of last year. It's supposed to only be for authorized personnel, but…"

"But you hacked it."

"Right. And since the Center is funded by municipal tax money…here, go ahead and type in 'Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys.' Actually," he stopped him after the first couple of words, "that's probably enough. Hit search."

A second later a long list of files appeared. "Woooow," the child said. "These are _all_ for the Center?"

"Yes, but we probably only need the first few. A lot of them will be very specific, like for the sewer or the electrical wires, and those aren't very helpful to us for our purposes tonight. It might take a little time to find Batman's entry point," he warned, "but this is much faster and safer than just going out there and exploring until I find a way in."

"…This is so cool," Dick murmured, already examining the first floor map. "…There!" he wriggled the cursor over a room. "That's the Director's office, I'm pretty sure, because Miss Linda's is right here. I remember from when they brought me in at first."

Seeing that what he was being told matched his own memory of the administrative corridor, Bruce pointed out a symbol just down the hall from his destination. "That's my entrance," he stated. "Service tunnel in the ceiling. Look, this section is only one story," he indicated where that was made clear on the document, "so it must come out…" Stealing the mouse away, he opened a few other files, finally finding what he was looking for. "Right there. Do you see how that works?"

"…Yeah. It kind of zig-zags, right?"

"Right. So…we have a plan." Reaching up, he ruffled the boy's hair. "You see? You're helping catch bad guys already." _You don't need to go out in the field. Leave that to me, and stay here where I know you're safe._ "…Good job, Robin. Now," he lifted him to the floor, "go check the car. Make sure everything's stocked, okay?"

"You bet!" he beamed back. "Are you going to get dressed?"

"I am. Do you remember how to use the radio, like I showed you?"

"Yup!" _This is so cool, I'm actually getting to help tonight…oh, wow…I hope I do okay, I don't want to disappoint him or get him caught or anything…well…I'll do my best, just like he said earlier. I'll do my best, and maybe we'll get lucky and find a clue. Yeah. We'll find something, I'm sure. _"…See you in a minute, Batman!"


	64. Chapter 64

"…Batman?"

The boy's voice was hesitant as it came through the radio, and the man in the driver's seat of the Batmobile felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a grimace. _He's nervous. I'm going to have to teach him how to hide that…_ "Here."

"I…I forgot something."

"What did you forget?"

"Well…there are security cameras all over the Center. We didn't plan for getting you around those."

"…I'll manage." He'd been half-expecting as much, and would have proceeded as if there was surveillance present in any case, but having it confirmed still made his lips tighten. _…If nothing else, maybe there will be something useful in the security video archives. Assuming, of course, that I can find them and have time to go through them…_

"Do…do you want me to see if there's a blueprint for that?" the offer broke his train of thought. "For their security system? It might take me a minute, but-"

"No," he cut him off. "It's fine." A beat passed, and he could practically hear the sense of failure running through the mind of the child he'd left behind. "…You didn't do anything wrong, Robin," he said in an almost-gentle voice.

"…You sounded angry."

"I generally do. It's…useful."

"…Oh."

"…But I'm not angry with you," he clarified. "If I am, you'll know."

"Oh!" came a relieved exclamation. "Sorry, Batman, I just…well…"

"Forgot something. It's not good, but it's not the end of the world. In this situation, at least." He paused. "Was there anything else?"

"No. Just the cameras."

"…Fine. Batman out."

"Robin out!" In the cave, Dick put down the radio handset and sighed heavily. _Whew. I thought he was going to be upset that I forgot about, like, the most important thing…I don't think people are supposed to see Batman, even on camera,_ he mused, recalling the news clip he'd caught of the vigilante back when Bruce wasn't talking to him. _Yeah. That would have been bad. It seemed like he __was__ mad for a minute just now…I thought his voice was funny when he showed me his costume last week, but he sounds so mad on the radio…gosh, if he talks like that all the time, no wonder people are afraid of him…_

In the quiet of the command center, he spun in his chair and waited for something to happen. He'd been given no instructions as to what he should do in Batman's absence other than to be ready at the radio. _I don't really know how to use his computers very well, though,_ he fretted, glancing at the red dot on the tiny map in the corner of the screen that indicated the car's position. _I don't want to poke around on it and break it while he's gone; what if he calls in and needs me to do something, but I can't because I messed it up? _There was a little bit of gymnastics equipment over in the training area, he remembered, and plenty of room to tumble, but that put him pretty far from where he might be needed. _Darn it. I don't mind taking care of the radio, but being stuck here just waiting for something to happen is hard…and __boring…_

A stack of files at the far end of the counter caught his eye as his seat slowed from a particularly hard push. "…Huh," he said out loud. _I wonder what those are about?_ Curious, he jumped down and traveled the short distance to them. _They look familiar,_ he frowned. Reaching for the top one, he paused. _…Wait. These are Bruce's papers. I shouldn't be snooping around in them. But…well, if they look familiar maybe it's because he showed them to me before. So that would mean they aren't a secret. Plus, he just left them out on the counter; he could have put them away, or told me not to touch them, if he didn't want me to see what's inside of them. It might even just be stuff about my social worker, so what's the harm?_

He carried the top few folders back over to his seat, wanting to be near the computer if Batman needed him. Settling back, he flipped open the first sheaf of papers. _…Oh, no,_ he gasped silently as he realized what he was looking at. _I bet he doesn't want me to see this. He didn't tell me what he found out in Newtown the other night until I asked him about it, and even then I think he kept some stuff to himself. I shouldn't…I should put this back where I found it…_ Once his eyes had begun to travel along the cowled man's notes from his interview with Jasper Quindley, however, it was practically impossible to make them stop. _No. I can't, I…I shouldn't… _

He managed the feat for a moment, gulping guiltily. _If he wanted me to know all of this, he'd tell me. I feel like I'm…I dunno, betraying his trust. He left me alone in his secret place, and here I am reading his files without permission. But…_ But they were files about _his_ parents, if he wanted to consider things from another point of view, and if they contained evidence about who had killed them…_ I deserve to know,_ he excused himself. _He __wants__ me to know, I'm sure of it, so that I don't end up always wondering the way he does. So…how can be really get all that mad at me? Besides, they __were__ laying out in the open…maybe he even meant for me to read them. Yeah! I'll bet that's why he didn't remind me about any cave chores, is because he figured I'd see them and get involved while I waited for him to call in. That must be it._

Time slipped by. As he was pulled into the tale of Tony Zucco's takeover of Newtown, a dark figure on the other side of the city stalked invisibly away from the hidden Batmobile and towards the high fence that segregated the forbidding Center from the rest of the world. The fertilizer man's fortunes rose, and so too did the vigilante; one landed at the head of a criminal underground as the other rolled onto a shadowy rooftop, neither facing any opposition. A few minutes more found the crime fighter crawling towards his goal through a dusty service shaft while on paper the tendrils of the chemical dealer's power reached out greedily, crossing an invisible line to circle around a little traveling circus that had done nothing more but show up in the wrong place at the wrong time. With Zucco at the height of his power, Haly's righteous refusal of whatever request had been made of him was met with violence; with Batman on the case, no municipally-funded security system was sufficient to keep the secrets entrusted to it. Dick closed the file, a single line of the interview transcript – _he has the power, and he has the method – _echoing in his head, just as the radio called his attention.

"…Robin. Come in."

For a second all the boy could do was blink, his shock at the full details of Newtown's newest crime lord's path to sinful glory too great to allow him to answer. Finally he stretched out one arm and fumbled the handset to his lips. "…Yes, Batman?" he breathed, teeth gritted to keep a sob from escaping.

"I'm in the Director's office. Are you at the computer?"

"Yes," he straightened. _Pay attention,_ he chastised himself half-heartedly. _This is an important case, too._ "What…what do you need me to do?"

"Go to the desktop. There's an icon on the left side labeled 'remote view.' I want you to open it."

…_Clickclick. _"Done." His eyes widened. "_Whoooa!_" fell out of his mouth as a darkened room, its contents illuminated greenly thanks to the cowl camera's night vision, appeared on the monitor. "…Am I seeing what _you're_ seeing?"

"Yes. I want you to search while I do and help me find what we're looking for. The live video in front of you right now exactly what is in front of me. Speak up if you think you see something worth investigating."

"I will," he swore. For the first ten minutes or so he did as he'd said he would, sweeping the screen for anything potentially incriminating. By the time Batman moved away from the relatively organized desk and began to sort through the binder-lined shelves, though, he was too busy wondering what was in the single folder that had lain on top of the transcript to keep his attention on that task at hand. He'd only skipped it at first because it was so light that he'd thought it was empty, but a sentence at the bottom of the interview had piqued his interest in it once more. 'Proceeded from Quindley residence to Zucco plant to obtain samples for comparison testing,' the neat little footnote proclaimed, and as he struggled to focus on the blur of boring management and psychology seminar titles that filled the camera's range those thirteen words haunted him.

He was playing with fire and he knew it, but as much as he wanted to help his guardian catch Margine Randall he needed to know what the results of the testing had been more. Swallowing hard, he exchanged the heavy Quindley file for the seemingly unused one that he'd set aside to being with. With a final glance towards the monitor to make sure he wasn't missing anything incredibly important in the search, he turned back the cover to reveal a single sheet of paper. He had no experience interpreting scientific chemical analyses, but that wasn't required in order for him to see that two of the three columns had been combined with one large, red ink circle. Their percentages were identical, their labels reading 'trapeze wires' and 'Zucco plant nitric acid compound' respectively.

Tears committed sudden mass suicide as what he was seeing sank in, splattering themselves down his cheeks as they succumbed to gravity's pull. _He did it,_ Dick sobbed numbly. _This…this proves it. Bruce said he still needs a motive, but…how could it be anyone else? He's a bad person, what Quindley said shows that, and the way he was acting when he heard the investigation was called off just makes it more obvious. And then…and then this. The acid. It __has__ to have been him…how long has Bruce known? Let's see…he went to Newtown on Saturday night, after the fundraiser, and it's Monday now. We were together yesterday and today except when he was at work and…and when we were talking to my social worker. So…he must have done it last night, maybe when I was in the back with Alfred?_ _I'll bet that's it; he wasn't at the regular computers when I met Superman, he was over by the lab stuff._ His lower lip jutted out, trembling. _…Why didn't you tell me? I deserve to know who took them from me, so why did you keep it a secret? That's not fair, Bruce. _

"Robin."

The speaking of his secret name was done quietly, but even through his hurt and despair the boy could hear a trace of triumph in it. Smacking the file shut contritely, he jerked his head back up to face the screen. _…Oh,_ he drew a sharp Batman's hands lay a much-thumbed stack of standard printer paper, the top sheet of which bore a chilling legend:

_Elementary Rehabilitation: Preventative Juvenile Correction for Extreme High Risk Cases, Ages 5 to 14._

_ By Dr. Jonas Whitney and Margine Randall_

"…You can't just _take_ that, though," Dick frowned. "He'll notice it's gone, won't he?"

"He should have a digital copy on his computer."

"…Oh. Right. Well…wow. That's…that's great, that you found that," he said a bit lamely, the discovery pale in his eyes when he held it up against his new knowledge of the acid tests that seemed to seal Zucco's guilt. "Are you going to keep looking for more stuff, since you're already right there?"

"I am. It will take some time; you should go to bed now." There was a pause. "…You were very helpful tonight, Robin."

"Will…will you let me help you again another night?" _With Zucco, _a hard, bitter demand went through his mind. _Let me help you catch Zucco. He killed them, I know he did now, and I want to be there when he goes down. Let me be there, Bruce. I know you understand, so let me be there when you nab him._ _It can't be much longer now…_

"…I would be honored."

_That_ caught his attention. _Batman – __the__ Batman – would be…__honored__…if I help him another night? I…wow. I don't feel like I did very much, but…I think he really meant that._ "…Thanks," he whispered. "…You're sure you don't need anything else from me tonight?"

"I am."

"Okay," he tried to sound cheerful. "Well…goodnight, then, Batman."

"…Good night, Robin." With that, the radio and the video link both blanked out.

Dick stared at the void screen for a moment. _…Why, Bruce?_ he hadn't dared ask, not while the man was out in the field and researching a completely different case. The awkwardness of having information he didn't think he was supposed to know was beginning to settle in as well, and as he carefully restacked the Newtown files the same way he'd found them a certainty assailed him. _I can't even ask him_, he decided unhappily. _He'll want to know how I know about the acid test to begin with. I don't want to tell him I was looking in files when I should have been concentrating on the mission; he'll be mad, and he might not let me be Robin anymore, at least not for a little while. And I __have__ to stay Robin, otherwise there's no good way for me to go out with Batman to catch Zucco. _

_I __have__ to stay Robin,_ he swore once more as he glanced back from the bottom of the stairs, making sure everything looked like it had when the vigilante left. _If I can't help people the way Batman does, then what was the whole point of my not falling with mom and dad? It would be a lot easier if you trusted me better, though, Bruce. Maybe that's why you don't want me going out in the field with you. I know I said I'll do whatever I can to help, but…I can do more than sit behind and wait for you to call in. I know I can. _

_I just have to prove it to you._

**Author's Note: I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me so far! You're all awesome. Tomorrow we'll have Bruce's POV on the mission, and get a peek at what exactly Margine and the Director think good rehabilitation consists of. Happy reading!**


	65. Chapter 65

The Center was almost absurdly simple to infiltrate, not only because he had a plan and prior warning about the security cameras but also due to the fact that the place had been built to keep people in, not out. The lawn was dark and the roof access was unlocked on both ends; the only pause in his advancement came when he had to wait until the rotating electronic eye of the camera outside of the director's office had passed his drop zone. As he crouched beneath the apparatus a moment later, he felt almost bad for Robin. _I should have assigned him some task for during my absence. He must be growing impatient; waiting duty is tedious for adults, let alone for an active, intelligent child. If he just had the promise of being trained for fieldwork in the near future, at least he'd have something to look forward to, to strive for. A reason to behave even better, perhaps._

_No,_was hissed back as he removed a miniature tube of epoxy glue from the belt around his waist and applied it to the swivel joint just below the camera's body. _He's fine. And he behaves perfectly fine already. He won't get bored, he'll…he'll work on his chores, or try and figure out the computer some more, or something. Hell, he's sitting in a chair capable of being spun around; that would keep any normal nine-year-old entertained for at least fifteen, twenty minutes._

_Which means it will distract him for all of five._

…_Point taken, but he's __not__ coming into the field!_

_Not yet,_ Batman agreed. _Not yet._ Bruce lapsed into silence as a faint clicking sound emanated from the device still trying to make its usual sweep overhead. When thirty seconds had elapsed, the gauntleted fingers that had held it in place while the adhesive dried let go. Confident that he now had the freedom to enter and exit the room without worrying about being caught on tape, the cowled figure stepped up to the office door, picked the lock, and slipped inside. _…The window is covered,_ he noted as he secured his night vision goggles and flipped on the camera embedded beside the lens that hid his right eye. "…Robin," he spoke in a low voice. "Come in."

"…Yes, Batman?" came back after a brief silence.

…_You sound a bit stuffy,_ the vigilante frowned. _Are you coming down with another cold, or did something upset you? _"I'm in the Director's office," he informed him, unable to do anything about the odd tone in the boy's voice from where he was. "Are you at the computer?" Receiving an affirmative answer – _he sounded a bit better that time; I suppose that's a good thing regardless of the cause of his congestion – _he walked the child through the process of bringing up the cowl view from the cave.

"_Whoooa!_" In the blackened office, a grin slipped across normally dour lips. It was reined in quickly, but a faint curve still lingered even after instructions had been issued and the search commenced.

…_Are you smiling?_ Bruce queried, sounding amazed.

_No,_ Batman replied as he rifled through the desk drawers. _I merely appreciate the candid way he expresses his emotions._

_I thought you wanted to suppress his expression of them? _the billionaire shot back.

_When necessary, yes, he needs to be able to do so. But that doesn't mean he should never let them show. _ He paused. _I don't believe that he'd be capable of keeping them under wraps at __all__ times, in any case._

_Good._

…_I agree, tentatively. It may be good. We'll see. _Finding nothing at the workstation, he pressed the computer's power button and moved to the overloaded shelves to look while it booted up. …_'A History of Mid-Atlantic Penal Institutions.' 'The Youthful Criminal and You.' 'Acting Out as a Symptom of PTSD in Minors.' _The books and bound seminar lectures went on and on, some more absurd than others, until he came to the third row from the top. A thick tome whose spine proclaimed it to be a guide to writing in law enforcement stood beside another for psychology; after them came a sheaf of store-bought white paper, bound in one corner with a massive metal clip and bristling with multi-colored sticky notes. _Promising,_ he thought as he extracted it. Reading the script on the cover page, his grin spread again, more predatory than amused this time. '_Elementary Rehabilitation: Preventative Juvenile Correction for Extreme High Risk Cases, Ages 5 to 14, by Dr. Jonas Whitney and Margine Randall,'_ he read to himself.

"…Robin," he breathed when he heard no reaction to the find. _Are you still there?_ A little gasp told him that he was. _Good. _His satisfaction grew as the youth pointed out that the manuscript's absence would be noticed were he to just abscond with it. _Right. Find the evidence, but don't let anyone __know__ that you've found it. You seem to have gathered that point already. Excellent. "_He should have a digital copy on his computer," he pointed out. _Everything is digitized these days, and no one ever checks the logs on their documents. They make it so easy…_

"…Oh. Right. Well…wow. That's…that's great, that you found that. Are you going to keep looking for more stuff, since you're already right there?"

_…You sound off again now. Damn it, what's going on? I suppose you could just be tired. After the encounter with Randall this morning and the stress you must have been under all day as a result, that seems logical. Alfred didn't mention you having taken a nap…that must be it. I can't imagine what else it __could__ be right now. You were excited about running the radio, but this has been about the most uneventful night you could have had to start out with. "_I am," he answered. "It will take some time; you should go to bed now." _Your reaction to that suggestion will tell me all I need to know; you'll fight to stay up if you aren't exhausted, I think._ "…You were very helpful tonight, Robin," he added before he could think about what he was saying.

_ …Did you just pay him a __compliment_?

His nostrils flared. _I spoke the truth._

_ Uh-huh._

"Will…will you let me help you again another night?"

_Yes,_ he thought. "…I would be honored," came out of his mouth.

_ Just speaking the truth all over the place tonight, aren't we?_

_ …There's no reason to lie to him that I'm aware of._

_ You're dodging the point._

_ I thought your point was to keep him satisfied with desk work. Is making him feel as if his contributions were useful not conducive to that end?_ Batman countered.

_ …Damn it._

_ I thought so._

"…Thanks," the child's appreciation was audible in that single word. "You're sure you don't need anything else from me tonight?" he offered.

"I am." _Eager to assist. I like that about him. I get the sense that I could tell him to wade through the sewers looking for clues and he'd do it with at least a partial smile on his face._

_ Don't even go there._

_ I'm aware of your objections_. _Stop bothering me with them._

"…Goodnight, then, Batman."

"…Good night, Robin," he answered, deciding that not enough of a fuss had come from the other end of the line to suggest any problem besides lack of sleep. _There's no call for nightmares tonight,_ he bit back, not wanting to give such an order when the boy had expressed hesitation about his voice only an hour before. _…Well, he can't control those in any case, so it would have been a pointless gesture._

Left alone to continue his task, he replaced the draft he'd found bearing the Director's name and continued to skim the names of other works. _'Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child: Studies on the Effectiveness of Corporal Punishment from 1950 to Today.' 'The Discipline of Fear.' 'The Psychology of Young Criminals, a Caseworker's Manual.' _By the time he reached the last title, his hands were clenched into tight balls of rage. _He keeps these in plain sight,_ he snorted. _Randall is obviously the brains of this operation. _

Breaking into the computer turned out to be a non-issue, as the man who ran the Center had seen fit to tape a slip of paper bearing his user ID and password to the bottom of the keyboard. Once he was in, he needed only open up the first text document he saw to be offered a list of recently edited items. At the very top was a large file blatantly labeled 'manuscript,' and upon clicking it Batman was greeted by a cover page identical to the one he'd held a short while before. Checking that it was the full text and not some earlier, half-finished version, he pulled a jump drive from his belt and saved a copy for his own perusal. _I almost wish I didn't need to read it for the case,_ he mused distastefully. _No doubt it's only going to make me angry._

_We just won't read it right before court,_ Bruce pitched in. _Punching her out in front of a judge would be about the least intelligent thing we could do._

_Mm._ Finished with his primary objective, the vigilante tried to find a way to access the building's security system, but twenty minutes of fruitless searching convinced him that it was monitored and archived on a separate network. _…So much for catching them in the act. I'll have to see if I can find out who their provider is…_ If the Center was on the same contract as the other municipal and county correction facilities, it would be nothing to get to what he wanted from the cave. Contractors, however, tended to have their own ways of doing things, and that could easily muddy the waters. _The sign outside says 'City of Gotham,' but that doesn't necessarily mean anything,_ he knew. _I have what I came for, in any case._

Shutting off the computer, he rose and made his way back into the hall. _…What good are guards that don't patrol __all__ of the corridors?_ _ Although Dick did say that they aren't really guards. Still, that's no excuse for leaving sections of the building unmonitored by human beings. Technology,_ he smirked slightly as he smeared a bit of rubbing alcohol on the uncured glue holding the ceiling camera still, _can often be worked around far more easily than a thinking person can._ It took only seconds for him to wipe enough of the thinned adhesive off in order to allow the mechanical guardian to begin its rounds again, thus keeping anyone from becoming suspicious in the morning. As soon as it turned away he vanished back into the duct that had let him into the building, leaving no trace of his visit behind.

He had time for a short patrol, but the plan whose authors were still trying to pull in Robin as a test subject called to him. _…Fine. I'll check Gotham tomorrow night, instead. That will give me time to formulate a plan for discovering Zucco's motive, and I can hit Newtown on Wednesday, barring any major events between now and then._ Setting the car to autopilot itself back to the cave, he removed the dashboard tablet and plugged in the small storage device containing the text of Randall's plan, then settled back to read as familiar streets whizzed by.

_While there has always been a certain percentage of society that has proven irreconcilable to the demands of living civilly, it seems as if in recent decades this number has grown exponentially. Correctional facilities today overflow with offenders, many of them violent, and the proliferation of youth crime threatens to keep this trend going indefinitely. Many of these incarcerated individuals have minimal or no juvenile record, which suggests that there is a large group of children who are not being instilled with a good enough sense of right and wrong to see them through life. This is, for obvious reasons, undesirable. _

_Many methods have been utilized over the centuries to teach people the proper way to conduct themselves, some more effective than others (see chapter 2, 'A History of Violence'). The fashion of late has been towards a kinder, 'gentler' approach, wherein children are advised with words rather than physical recrimination. This seems to work for those who have been born with a sweet temperament and who are exposed to minimal outside influences that might sway them towards a criminal path. The ones who are birthed hard-minded and cruel or made so by the circumstances of their earliest childhood are frequently beyond help by the time they come to the attention of the system. This study, however, is focused on neither of these extremes, but rather on the wayward 'middle' children, those who are not yet entirely set on the road to violence and who might, with the proper intervention, still be turned around._

_What lies within these pages is a theory for bringing these lost youth back to their proper places in society, a method of banishing pretentious tendencies and penchants for petty crimes before they become truly ingrained and inexorable. The narrow age group was a purposeful choice; children under age five or six are not likely to benefit from the treatment outlined here, and those well into puberty have passed the optimal point for reconditioning. It should be noted, however, that older children are a key component of our system, serving as the front line of correction in this pre-emptive war on crime._

His lip was already curling, and he was a mere three paragraphs into the introduction. _'Proper place in society?' _he boggled. _What exactly does she think that is? And setting older kids against the younger in order to 'correct' them…if Kevin and Dick were an example of her plan, she's not creating a treatment program for troubled youth, she's pulling together a real-life 'Lord of the Flies.' _Still, he needed to know how far she incriminated herself in the text, and as such couldn't just stop reading. Skipping ahead, he found a section labeled 'Course of Treatment' and tried again.

_An individual correction plan must be created and adhered to for each child undergoing treatment in order to ensure maximum success, but there are a few basic premises that will be repeated in any well-devised rehabilitation schedule. The most important of these is that bad behavior must become associated with a negative consequence. For these children, the consequences must go beyond a simple removal of privileges or even a spanking; indeed, in the more extreme cases a sense of psychological and physical terror will have to be invoked before progress can be made. _

_The simplest way to do this while also giving the patient a sense of the future should they not reconcile themselves to a life of obedience to the law and their betters is to place them in a prison-like setting and allow the uncurables – those older, jaded youth who are unsalvageable as regular citizens but who can still do their part by scaring a bent for misbehavior out of potential young wrong-doers – to subject them to monitored abuse, verbal, physical, and emotional. Only when these wayward minors are forced to feel the sorts of things that their bad actions, past or future, cause their victims to feel will they develop a deep-seated desire to avoid the sort of activities we are aiming to prevent before the idea even occurs to a potential offender._

_Yeah, the abused __never__ become abusers,_ Batman glared at the screen. _This is ridiculous. This plan won't scare kids into good behavior, it will scare them into withdrawal, self-harm, and flashbacks once you've deemed them 'cured.' No child could possibly be helped by this. _Curious how Randall and the Director proposed that 'salvageable' patients be sorted out, he scrolled to the page entitled 'Finding the Favored Few,' the very name of which made the tablet's plastic shell creak ominously under the pressure of his fingers.

_As we mentioned earlier, some children will reside almost from birth in either the good or unchangeably bad camps. By age five or six, depending on natural leanings and the environment of their earliest years, most minors will be showing signs of belonging to one of the set camps or of falling somewhere along the middle of the spectrum. The best candidates for our program are those who either demonstrate a leaning towards the negative extreme, for instance with acts of petty theft or assault (taking money from mother's purse, throwing rocks at others on the playground), or whose life circumstances thus far suggest that they will statistically become criminals as they age (children from low-income and unstable homes fit this in particular). Ideally, all children from these 'high-risk' backgrounds would undergo treatment, particularly the males who are already much more likely to turn to violent crime as they age. Most of them, particularly those from groups that have been traditionally considered to be undesirable, will require some time under the highest level of care, that in which there is very little adult supervision and they are subject to rule by their older, much more unforgiving peers. _

_This stage is essential for breaking them of the idea that the world is a place where whatever they need will be handed to them, or even that consistent hard work will always pay off. As an example, no matter how aptly a child in the program follows orders, they will eventually experience a strike or be shouted at for apparently no good reason, teaching them that even diligence is not always enough to avoid pain or calamity. The lack of intervention by an adult, at the highest levels of treatment, will demonstrate that justice sometimes goes unserved, and they must deal with their feelings about it on their own. Most importantly, it will give them a solid vision of the prison system that they are likely to inhabit as adults if they do not swerve away from bad behaviors._

_The key in this example is that, while interaction is minimal, the administrators must monitor the situation closely. Most children will submit, learn their lessons, and be deemed sufficiently rehabilitated; a few, however, will turn the abuse laid on them onto others. If an increase in the aggressiveness of the treatment does not rectify this error, it should be assumed that the child is another irreconcilable, and they should be absorbed into the program as a member of the correction groups so that their undesirable hard-wiring is not loose on the streets and can serve to train more promising children than themselves for life as a citizen. _

He was livid now, and had to set the device aside for a moment in order to unclench his hands. _She would have every kid in Gotham in her little 'program,' being beaten and abused by other children until they're so cowed you can't speak to them without making them flinch,_ he glowered. _A kid talks back? Throw him to the wolves. Makes a mistake? Tear him to pieces. There are some good life lessons that she's trying to get across with this, it seems, but even if her intended students weren't too young for most of those points to be gotten across to them her way of doing so is so far out of line it ought to be illegal._ He bared his teeth. _…It __will__ be illegal. Even if she wasn't putting this theory of hers into practice already, albeit on a small scale, just the fact that she believes this sort of thing is an acceptable idea for teaching people how they should act ought to be enough to have her forbidden from working with children. _

He'd noticed a chapter designated in the table of contents as containing case studies, but as the car rolled into the cave he was glad that he had an excuse not to examine it at that very moment. _Breaking the tablet won't do me any good,_ he grimaced, abandoning it on the passenger seat and stepping out of the vehicle. _Besides, it's clear that a great deal of this stems from Randall's assault, regardless of there being two names on the cover. There's no doubt about it, just from what little I read. I don't know how much of all of this the Director truly agrees with – it's possible that he's only involved as far as he has to be in order to keep her willing to sleep with him – but from what I know about Randall's past, she probably dreamed up most of it. her utopian vision is of a society where everyone is afraid of each other, especially the men. Pleasant._

The cowl came off with a hard yank, hanging from Bruce's hand as he glared into the middle distance. _And that bitch wants to put __my__ boy back into that mess, all because he comes from one of her 'undesirable families' – I can't imagine her thinking of people who travel with a circus as being admirable members of society, regardless of the fact that the Graysons seem to have been exactly that – and because he probably wasn't afraid to point out something she said wrong or cruelly. Not going to happen, _his face contorted. _I saw what just a couple of days of what you probably consider a low-grade 'treatment' did to him; I'm not going to let you try to break him again._

He nodded firmly, comfortable with his determination and with the strength of the evidence he'd gathered that night. It needed further analysis, to be sure, but he knew it would be a powerful driver for her expulsion from social services once it and the other evidence was put into the proper hands. _I'd like just a little bit more to really lock things up, and something to cover the reason for Batman's involvement, _he decided as he moved to put his headgear away, _but this was a big step. __The__ big step, really, in her case._ _And Dick will know that he helped. _A small smile appeared on his lips. _He'll be able to go to sleep with the knowledge that his information helped keep dozens of other boys, at least, from going through what he did, and that should help him feel good about his role as Robin in the cave._

Approaching the computer terminals, something caught his eye. _…Did I leave those out?!_ his heart sank as he recognized the pile of Newtown files. _Oh, no…and I set him up at a computer within plain sight of them. __Fuck__. _Thumbing through them, though, his panic waned. _…They're in the same order I left them in,_ he realized. _He had to have seen them, but…maybe I got lucky. Maybe he left them alone._ _I can see him putting them all back in together when he was done, but I don't think he'd automatically put them in the correct order. _

_God, I hope he left them alone. I hate to ask him outright; then he'll know there's something in them that I don't want him to read, and I hate the thought of him thinking I don't trust him with that information. I __do__, I just…I just don't want that fucking dream to come true, in __any__ form. If he goes after Zucco on his own, it won't end well. It can't end well. I can't let that happen._ Scooping up the stack, he carried it to a locking file cabinet and secured the drawer. _…There,_ he sighed, sagging. _If he didn't read them before – and the more I think about it, the more I can't imagine him finding out that I didn't tell him about the nitric test results and not getting angry with me about it over the radio – then he sure as hell won't be reading them now. _

_He's safe,_ he assured himself, and headed to change.


	66. Chapter 66

"…Alfred?" the billionaire asked a short while later, poking his head into the kitchen. _That's strange. You're always in here when I come back from patrol, except when you're in the cave,_ he frowned. _You didn't go to bed, not without knowing I was back. You've never have before, at least. Although…not being in bed doesn't mean you aren't in your rooms…_

Several years had passed since he'd last bothered to approach the butler's private little corner of the house, and he drew up to the door slowly. _…I hope you're here, _he thought fervently. _For some reason sneaking up like this makes me feel like I'm about eight years old and doing something wrong. _"Alfred?" he queried for a second time, knocking lightly.

After a momentary pause that he would later attribute to mild shock at there being a voice in the hall, Bruce heard an answer. "One moment, Master Wayne." Sounds of shuffling ensued, and then the entrance was opened wide. "…You've returned safely, I see?"

"Yeah. Ah…I was surprised when I didn't find you in the kitchen," he said frankly, rubbing the back of his neck in mild consternation.

"My apologies, sir. My plan was to be in my usual spot when you arrived home, but I'm afraid I got caught up in my project and lost track of the time. Is there something I can get for you?"

"No," he shook his head, "but…a project?"

The Englishman gave him a conspiratorial look. "…Master Dick doesn't want you to see his costume until it's complete," he informed him, "but when I last checked on him he was fast asleep. If you can manage to still put on a surprised look when the revelation comes tomorrow, I'll let you in briefly for a sneak peek." _It's going to be so terribly precious on him, I think, that you'd best be prepared beforehand. _

"…Tomorrow? It's…it's that close to finished?" he asked disconcertedly. _Damn. He's going to start pestering me about fieldwork again once he has it, I know he is._ "How did you get it done so _fast?" _

"Oh, it was simple. Much of the work was just modifying old items we found in the civilian disguise pieces so that they fit him, and adding a bit of reinforcement here and there. Making spares will, of course, require more work, since fabric and the like will need to be procured, but I feel we've managed a very decent prototype if nothing else. Here, step inside so I can close the door," he made way for him.

Draped across one of the comfortable reading chairs that flanked a small fireplace were several garments, their bright hues making Bruce arch an eyebrow. _…Circus colors,_ he sighed as his gaze wandered over the array. _Even if I wanted to let you out on patrol, there's no way you could stay hidden in that getup. You might have hamstrung yourself there, kiddo._ He paused. _…I'm okay with that._

"Don't forget this, as well," Alfred laid out an apple-red tunic bearing a half-finished 'R' monogram on the left side. "It all seems to clash horridly, I know," he commiserated, "until you imagine it on him."

_Green boots. Green leggings and gloves. Red shirt. I don't think you'll be growing up to become a fashion designer, kiddo, that's for sure. _"…Is that a cape?" he inquired, spotting the only neutral-colored object in the entire assembly.

"Yes. He insisted on that." He held it up, then turned it around so that the sunny lining was visible. "I suggested leaving the entire thing yellow, but he said the outside ought to be black. I didn't have it in me to argue, not when he was clearly enjoying himself so much."

"…He doesn't need a cape. He's not going anywhere in these clothes."

"I'll leave _you_ to explain that to him, Master Wayne," the butler gave him a cool look. "Not only did he express his opinion that the cape was _essential_, he's also already asked about being allowed a utility belt like Batman's."

"What does he need _that_ for? Seriously, no. There's no point to it!"

"…You're right, of course," Alfred nodded. "There's no point to him having a cape and a belt. Other than," he added just as Bruce was about to consider the matter settled, "the fact that having those items will make him happy, even if he isn't given the opportunity to need either accessory."

"He's prepping himself for fieldwork. You see that, don't you?" _You don't miss much, _he mused. _Don't you dare have missed this._

"Possibly. More importantly, though, I see a young boy doing his very best to emulate someone whom he respects a great deal." He paused. "It's no different than the child of a physician having a doctor's playset."

_Way to beat around the bush, Alfred,_ the billionaire stiffened. He knew all too well what was being referenced, but it was something that he'd pushed so thoroughly out of reach of his consciousness that it took a moment for the memories to come back fully. "…I used to give physicals to all my stuffed animals, didn't I?" he nearly whispered, keeping his eyes averted from the older man's.

"You might recall that you attempted one on the Thanksgiving turkey. Had you waited until it was dead to do so there wouldn't have been a problem, but as it was you received a rather nasty peck and nearly required stitches." The butler gave that a moment to sink in. "No matter how fervently you may have wished to be doling out legitimate medical advice during your afternoons at play, sir, you could not have done so without the same sort of extensive training your father had. It's no different with Batman and Robin. He's merely imitating you, and even if he's doing so with the idea of someday preparing to work at your side, what harm is there in it? I would think you'd be flattered that he latched onto the two parts of your own disguise that you put the most thought and work into, besides your cowl, of course."

"I…I guess I _am_ flattered, I just…" _Without those two things, it's not so different from something he might wear on a trapeze, _he realized. _But add a cape and a belt full of surprises, and it becomes more than an outfit. It becomes a potential weapon._ But, he decided, it wasn't as if he had to give him anything to go _in_ the pouches, and if a fuss was raised about them being empty he'd come up with 'toy' versions of his more recognizable gear. _Part of me hates to infantilize him like that, but what's he going to do with a real grappling hook inside the cave, let alone smoke pellets and batarangs?_ Finally he sighed. "…He can have both. But I'm going to reiterate to him that Robin does _not_ leave the cave. Your argument when this all started was that the costume would help him be more focused and in-character on the radio, and that needs to be the extent of its duties."

"I quite agree, Master Wayne, I assure you. Let me just say, however, that it is rather a relief that you aren't going to refuse him those small details, particularly the belt."

Bruce watched the Englishman suspiciously for a moment. "…You already have one made, don't you?"

"I didn't so much need to _make_ it as to shorten up one of yours from when you first began going out as Batman," the butler explained, retrieving the controversial piece from behind a large pile of fabric scraps. "The color was an issue, of course, but I'm sure the jaundiced look that the dye gave my fingernails will fade soon enough."

"Yellow again," the billionaire observed. "Do we have a blinking neon sign he can hold? Because I don't think he could make this costume any easier to see in the dead of night without one."

"What does it matter how visible he is, sir," Alfred asked, "if you've no intention of letting him outside of the cave in it?"

"…Point taken," he said begrudgingly.

"…You seem troubled by something this evening." _I'd be doing a poor job indeed if I didn't sense the bother that seems to be surrounding you. What's changed since I saw you just after dinner? _"Would you care to discuss it? I can only assume that it is related to Master Dick."

"It is," he let out a long puff of air. "I, uh…I found Margine Randall's philosophy on juvenile behavior modification tonight, to start with," he shared as the butler began to neatly fold and stack the completed garments, leaving only the tunic out to be completed later. "She's sick. You wouldn't believe the things she advocates. I think about the fact that she's still trying to get Dick back so that she can put him through her program, and it makes me ill. Do you know what he asked me earlier, after he started crying at the table?"

Alfred had been wondering on that point all evening, and now shook his head. "No, but I do wish you'd tell me. If he has another fit like that while you aren't home, I'd like to have an idea of what I'm dealing with."

"He asked me why so many bad things have happened to him since his parents died. He asked me…he asked what he did to deserve it all." He turned his face away, pretending to examine a painting on the wall so that the older man wouldn't see the tears in his eyes as he recalled the pitiful little voice that inquiry had been made in.

_That despicable trollop,_ the Englishman cursed to himself. He knew without asking that the greatest of the 'bad things' the boy must have been referring to was his time at the Center and the social worker's renewed efforts to put him back there. _There is a special place reserved in hell for people who do purposeful harm to children; I'm sure she'll fit in __very__ well when the time comes._ "What was your response, sir?"

"I told him he didn't do _anything_, obviously. I think he believed me, at least right then, but just the fact that he was thinking something like that…if it wasn't for the fact that I know doing so would land him right back in the Center, I'd punch that bitch the next time I see her." He didn't bother to apologize for the swearing, assuming correctly that when it came to Margine Randall Alfred would let a bit of sailor's language slide. "You should read that garbage. I could only get through a little bit of it, kind of jumping around because it kept pissing me off, but you've always had more patience than I do so maybe you'll manage it better."

"I must confess my curiosity. I could use a bit of a rest from my sewing; if you're going to be up for a while in any case and I wouldn't be disturbing you, I might go downstairs and give the document a quick skim. It certainly won't hurt for us to both have a good idea of where she's coming from and what she has planned for the young master."

"Right," Bruce nodded, heading for the hallway. _It would be nice to have someone to really commiserate with about how insane she is,_ he thought, _and who knows, maybe Alfred will find something useful that I missed with all of the skipping around I was doing earlier. _"…If you want to go ahead, I'm going to check on kiddo. Did he say anything before he went to bed?" he asked, a vague worry about the Newtown files still nibbling at the back of his mind.

"No, sir. He looked a bit tired and perhaps a little upset – a _very _little upset, mind you – but I attributed that not only to the long and taxing day he had but also to the fact that you sent him to bed before your return."

"I didn't mean to upset him with that, I just knew I was going to be a while still and figured he shouldn't be up that late."

"He seemed not to be too miffed about that. As I said, he was only mildly unhappy. I'm sure he'll have forgotten it by the time he climbs into your bed tonight. In any case, I shall see you downstairs shortly," Alfred said as they reached the foyer and prepared to part ways temporarily.

"Right. I'll be quick. Her manuscript should be open on the car tablet," he advised. "I left it on the seat." _Lucky I didn't chuck it out the window the way I wanted to..._

"Take your time, there's no rush." _Enjoy little moments like watching him sleep._ _I assure you that such opportunities are neither long nor numerous enough in hindsight._

Bruce checked his own room first, figuring there was a good chance that the child had already made his nightly migration across the hall, and was a bit surprised to find the bed turned down but empty. _Huh. Well…that's a good thing, _he told himself. _It means he hasn't had any nightmares yet. Maybe he won't have them at all tonight. God, though, I'm almost afraid to see how bouncy he is on a full, undisturbed night's sleep…_ Entering the boy's darkened room, he moved silently to the small lump under the covers. _Completely passed out,_ he smiled softly to himself, running a hand over dark hair before pulling the blankets just a tad higher. _Good. Maybe running the radio helped you feel better about things. If that's the case…well, we'll just have to have you do it some more, won't we? Gaudy costume and all._

He sat with him for nearly twenty minutes before rising. _I'm going to go see what Alfred thinks about your social worker's little plan,_ he leaned his forehead against that of the sleeping youth. _You just keep on sleeping like this. No bad dreams, okay? Although I'm not opposed to you coming to my room because you woke up for some __other__ reason but still want to cuddle_. Walking down the main staircase shortly thereafter, he smirked at himself. _I never thought a day would come when I would feel like I fell kind of short on my hug quota. Hell, until ten days ago I didn't even know I __had__ a hug quota…crazy kid changed so much, so fast…I don't even recognize myself in some ways, and…and I sort of really like that fact._

"This is absolute _drivel_," the butler expressed angrily as his elder charge entered the cave. "I tremble to think what sort of a head injury must have been necessary in order for her to come to the conclusion that these methods would work. If Master Dick is any indicator, her plan is capable of breaking, of _destroying_, even strong, happy children," he grimaced. "…Did you read the case studies portion?"

"No. Why? It can't be long, she told me that Dick was their first real test case."

"That would appear to have been the case, given how much room he's assigned in that chapter."

Bruce stilled, disbelieving rage flooding him. "…_What?"_

"Oh, yes. Seven or eight pages, at least," the Englishman scrolled through text on the screen as he made his estimate. "They use his initials rather than his name, but I sincerely doubt that she's ever had exposure to another 'RJG' whose 'uncouth unbringing amidst a traveling circus full of foreigners and layabouts' would have made him such a 'prime candidate for the program.'" He paused to allow that all to be absorbed before he continued. "She considers him to be an aborted success story, and absolutely raves about how much more 'docile' and 'manageable' he was when he was removed after just 'a few days treatment.'"

"Docile and manageable? He was terrified out of his goddamn mind!" the billionaire nearly shouted. "We're probably lucky he doesn't flinch every time someone raises a hand around him, after the way things went with Kevin. Oh, wait, I forgot; that's how she _likes_ them to go, with random beatings that have no rhyme or reason."

"…Perhaps you'd best go release some of that rage, Master Wayne," Alfred suggested. _If your head explodes all over the cave, it will take hours to clean up._

Muttering extremely course adjectives under his breath but giving a nod, he stalked over to the training area and threw a few hard blows into a punching bag. "That bitch is going down, Alfred," he swore, returning. "I don't care what it takes, she is _not_ putting him back into her rendition of hell."

"That's exactly her goal, I fear," the Englishman revealed. "She says herself that she is trying to get him back so that he can finish out his 'rehabilitation.'" A beat passed as Bruce's visage grew cyclonic once more. "Sir, I must advise you to put this…out of your mind," he nearly choked on the suggestion, "when we next see her. Otherwise I fear one or both of us will do something that plays directly into her hands, and we _cannot_ hand her a victory. If it's any consolation, know that I will be just as near to punching her as you will."

"…Good," the younger man said. His face had changed while the butler was speaking, falling back from Class 5 to contemplative. "But we might have a better way of getting back at her, if she really wrote what you said she did."

"Master Wayne?"

"If she said that she's trying to get him back in order to essentially allow him to be abused…that's not only grounds for her to be fired, it should over overwhelm everything she's gathered to try and throw at us; the issues from the inspection, the subtle accusations that we want him for something…" he shuddered, "sexual, all of it. How could any judge take her seriously when she clearly has her own disgusting plan for him?" A victory smirk was spreading across his lips now. "I don't know why she would put something like that in a manuscript, but if she wants to basically leave a confession sitting around on her boyfriend's bookshelf, I'll take it."

"…That is excellent news, of course," Alfred looked cautiously pleased. "But there is one problem, and I'm sure that once your excitement calms somewhat you'll realize that you already know what it is."

"Hmm?" _This is it. That manuscript will lock it all up tight for sure…_

"To put it simply, sir, what on Earth is Bruce Wayne doing with a half-finished guide to juvenile detention, and one _conveniently_ scribed by the person who is causing all of the trouble in his adoption and guardianship cases at that?" Raising an eyebrow, he handed the tablet to the other man. "_That_, I think, is the question we must answer before we can truly celebrate."

**Author's Note: For those of you wondering, I'm going with an amalgam Robin costume. I hate the idea of his having bare legs (brr, in winter, and really, no protection at all?) and I greatly prefer the YJ cape, so those are in. I believe I left the rest of the outfit true to the original uniform. Happy reading!**


	67. Chapter 67

By the time Bruce made it to his meeting with the custody lawyers Tuesday afternoon, he was in a dark mood.

He and Alfred had passed the tablet back and forth downstairs for almost another hour after the butler pointed out the wall blocking their path to success, alternately searching for fuel to keep their vindictive ire going and brainstorming excuses for the manuscript to make it into the proper hands. Sending it anonymously would detract from its reliability, they decided, since technically anyone could have written it and just put Randall and Whitney's names on the cover page. Even with the cowl video showing the discovery of the document, there was every reason to believe that Randall's instant defense would be that the papers and their digital counterpart were fakes that had been planted before the recording began. If it was enough to spur an investigation despite her protests, both Gotham PD and Gotham social services had so much on their respective plates that it would be months, years even, before anything of worth was done, and they didn't have that kind of time.

They discussed having Batman present it to the Commissioner along with the other information he'd gathered to suggest that Randall shouldn't be allowed to work with children, but then there was the question of cause; the vigilante simply had no reason to be researching the social worker. Saying that he'd been hired by Bruce Wayne was proposed, but that would again cast doubt on whether the document could be trusted. He had too much reason to want her viewed skeptically by the courts and the public alike, and he also had the money to both come up with 'evidence' and to convince someone like Batman to present it as such. That ruled out not only taking what he had straight to the police but also the idea of paying a nighttime visit to their opponent, since with none of her other victims seeming to have a concerned adult in their lives Randall was sure to suspect Bruce's involvement somehow. Besides the damage that would be done to Batman's already shadowed reputation if it was stated on the record that he accepted payment for his services – something that was always vehemently denied by 'mystery sources' who claimed to be close to Gotham's protector whenever the issue was raised – the risk to the custody case was just too great. Any attempt by the billionaire to degrade the public servant's name, they judged, would be viewed as underhanded, and that would hardly help their argument that Dick had a good home at Wayne Manor.

Bruce simply couldn't have his name attached to it, at all; Batman _had_ to turn everything in on his own, and he had to have a good reason for doing so. That was as far as they got. No possible excuse presented itself to them that might be used without raising serious questions, since the technically legal incarceration of children in juvenile halls by CPS was hardly the hero's realm of usual focus. Even Caleb's death wasn't enough justification, they shook their heads, especially considering that he'd been serving time for a crime and had clearly committed suicide. As frustrating as it was for both men, the single path that seemed to be open to them was to wait and see what happened in the civilian world.

The only semi-bright moment in their puzzling came when Alfred scrolled past the large case study on Dick and discovered the initials of the boy that Randall had shoved into the Center in his place. There was little written about 'TVD' thus far, leading them to believe that he had been under the CPS agent's 'care' for a relatively short time, but he appeared to be another child with no known history of criminal misbehavior. According to the small amount of background information given, his father had long been out of the picture and his mother had just been convicted of a felony drug charge; exactly the sort of life experiences that the social worker liked to see in the files of her 'patients.'

As the butler had read this new victim's entry out loud, Bruce was thrown into a moment of guilty despair. _How many children has Batman taken parents from?_ he wondered. _Petty criminals, druggies, mobsters…so many of them must have been mothers and fathers, too. Sure,_ he excused himself a little, _a lot of them weren't setting even remotely positive examples, and there's no reason to think they weren't prone to abusing or neglecting them, so there's a chance that having that parent put away was good for the kids, but…there's a chance that it __wasn't__, too. There's a chance that one or more of them was hurt by that sudden loss; there's a chance that they could have become one of Randall's prototype Center cases because mother or father was arrested._ He shuddered. _I know I shouldn't blame myself for the indirect consequences that come about from bringing people to justice, but…I have to wonder if it isn't a net __loss__ to the cause if someone's child ends up in a bad place because their parent was carted off to jail for putting their finger in their pocket at the convenience store and pretending it was a gun._

He knew from looking for it a thousand times before that it was an impossible line to find, and after a few minutes he'd shaken himself and put it out of his head. Such instances were unfortunate, even unjust, but he couldn't work with information that he didn't have. Who had a better argument that principle and morality were on their side, the innocent child whose father committed a carjacking and landed in jail, or the driver that man left on the pavement, terrorized and suddenly bereft of an asset that might be a determining factor in their livelihood? _I can't make those judgments, _he'd grimaced as he moved upstairs. _No one can, not objectively at least. And therein lies the problem when it comes to applying ideals like 'justice' and 'truth' in a day-to-day setting; we've all got our own ideas of what those things are, and usually the 'right' answer is the one that's going to serve our own interests best._

Finding his bed still empty hadn't soothed his ruffled conscious in the least. Even reminding himself that it was a _good_ thing that Dick hadn't needed solace following a nightmare wasn't sufficient to numb the vague ache in the pit of his stomach. For the first time in memory, he rolled over and found that the mattress felt too big, too empty, too…cold. _I've just gotten used to him being here, apparently,_ he sighed. _I hate to go in and potentially disturb him, especially if he's managing to make it through the night on his own…_ Besides, it was one thing for the youth to come to him directly for comfort, but the idea of reversing their roles in that aspect was untenable. _He saved me from the dream the other night,_ he told himself firmly, _and…well, in general. That's enough. I'm supposed to help carry __his__ burdens; his shoulders aren't broad enough yet to take on any of mine. Even if they were…that's not his job._

After much tossing and turning, he'd reached a partial solution by holding a pair of pillows loosely in his arms. The weight and texture were all wrong, but it was enough to let him fake it, and he drifted off to sleep shortly before four o'clock. When Alfred woke him a little more than three hours later he found that he'd been squeezing the padding so tightly during the series of disturbing images that had haunted his slumber that his arms were protesting from the constant flexing and unflexing. Rubbing one sore bicep after a long, hot morning shower, Bruce had leaned in the doorway of Dick's bedroom, watching him sleep and reminding himself that the boy was fine. _Better than fine, if last night is any indication. It's good,_ he tried to convince himself. _It's what I wanted, was for his nightmares to go away, or at least to come less frequently than mine do. I just wish that didn't have this side effect of him not seeming to need me as much._

The child hadn't awakened before he left for the day, and as such it had been nearly sixteen hours since they'd last spoken by the time Bruce walked into the conference room of Whistler, Knight, and Ingalls. Keith Jones stood to greet him, then seemed to search the area around his client. "…No future member of the bar with you today, Mr. Wayne?" he queried with a smile.

"I thought it best to leave him at home in case you didn't have good news," he answered, seating himself.

"Well, what I have for news isn't quite good, but it isn't definitively bad, either. We just wanted to go over a couple of things with you, kind of give you an update. Matilda – Ms. Whistler – won't be joining us today. She wanted to, but there was a major SNAFU with another case, so she's out running damage control right now." Shuffling a stack of paperwork in front of him, the attorney cleared his throat. "First things first; your court date is day after tomorrow."

_That twenty thousand dollar retainer was worth it for speedy results like that,_ Bruce thought, pleased. "Good."

"Yes and no," Keith corrected. "Obviously we want to get this wrapped up as quickly as possible, not only to save you money but more importantly so that your boy has a sense of stability back in his life. That's the good part. The bad part is, in our experience judges only squeeze in hearings on such short notice when they've already decided how they're going to rule and are just looking to fulfill the absolute basics that the law requires in order to cover their rear ends. In this situation, that's not what we want, because frankly we don't think anyone's likely to rule in your favor at the moment."

"…Well why the hell not?" the billionaire frowned mightily.

"Part of it's got to do with the fact that Margine Randall is a known name in the Gotham family court system. She's presented cases to every judge we have. So has Matilda, of course, but there's a definite difference in how the so-called kind, altruistic social worker is viewed compared to the money-grubbing, aggressive attorney. Most of the judges are pretty good at hiding that automatic bias, but none of them can avoid it; it's ingrained into our society. We all grew up with those stereotypes, and even when you've worked with both groups for decades and come to realize that we're all just people, there's still that little hesitation. Long story short, what that means here is that it would have been a better sign had they scheduled you for a couple of weeks out. That would have given us more time to look into Randall, too. We've already requested a delay in the proceedings, but don't hold your breath."

_You want info on Randall,_ Bruce bit his tongue. _Have I got some info for you, Mr. Jones._ That damned problem of explaining how and why he'd gotten hold of the manuscript raised its ugly head again, and his effort to keep quiet made him taste blood. _I've said everything I can about her to them,_ he told himself sharply. _…But that doesn't mean I can't ask for an update._ "Have you heard back about whether or not it was legal for her to keep Dick in the Center as long as she did?"

"Matilda called up several other lawyers here in town, criminal and family, and none of them were aware of any precedent that says otherwise. The way the law reads, they're only supposed to be kept in the detention centers until the regular CPS homes have a space open. The problem is, the statute doesn't outright require that the child in question be rotated if in order to do so they would have to move someone else into their spot at the correctional facility. Too much paperwork is my guess as to why it was written like that."

"So as long as there are no empty beds elsewhere at the end of the day, she could keep a kid in there for as long as she wanted." _That's fucked up._

"That's the gist of it, yes. We're already working on our arguments in that regard, and it will be something we address in our statements to the judge. If that isn't sufficient to call the question into the light of day and get things made a bit clearer, Matilda's going to take it to the legislature. There's no reason for a law like that to be on the books; it's much too unstructured, and there's a lot of room for abuse, as I think Margine Randall made clear when it came to your boy. As for the others, Miss Bergman said she wasn't at liberty to discuss either cases she's seen or the people with whom she works. There's a subpoena processing for her, although I doubt it will come through before Thursday. The janitor…we've left several messages at the front desk of the Center for him, but he hasn't called back."

_Shit. Randall must have gotten to Bergman again, and Lionel…_ "He must not be getting the messages," he shook his head with a tight expression. "Bergman's reticence doesn't really surprise me – from talking to her week before last I think she's just trying to protect her job so that she can keep helping the boys in there – but Lionel…he seems to operate under a slightly different mentality than Bergman. Maybe try asking Bergman to have him call. She's more likely to get the message to him than the girl at the front desk, I think." He paused. "Mr. Jones…if this goes wrong…if they deny the permanent custody…what's next?"

"Well," he shifted, a grave look on his face, "we can try again, or we can go for a longer temporary custody order, try to give you time to prove through actions that her accusations are false. The thing is, those are still temporary orders; there's not much reliability there. CPS could come in and take him any time, so long as they managed to come up with some evidence of his being in danger."

"Yeah, she tried that trick already," Bruce spat. "Well…she threatened to try that trick. She inspected the house yesterday, and with no warning," he added.

"Yes, we're not very happy about that either. The general practice is to give at least twenty four hours warning, at least for guardianship inspections."

"So she did it wrong?" _Alfred will be happy, at least, and maybe we can get it thrown out…_

"No. She did it questionably, but the law doesn't require that she give you any notice. It's just standard procedure, a nice gesture. But nice gestures don't seem to be her forte from what you've told us, so…"

_Damn, this woman is almost as good at operating in the gray areas of the law as Batman is,_ the billionaire cursed silently. "…What do I do from here, then?" he asked in a quiet voice that he couldn't quite keep his despair out of. "Anything it takes to keep him, Mr. Jones, I'll do it."

"Here's the full list of complaints about your home that she came up with," the attorney passed him two pages of type. "Fixing as many of those as you can before Thursday will help. Other than that, just stay out of trouble, and keep him out of it, too. If he walks into court on Thursday with a black eye because he tripped and hit a table or something, you'll lose him, all but guaranteed."

"I'll tape him up in bubble wrap," he muttered, reading the issues the CPS agent had pointed out. _He'd probably think it was fun, at least at first. _"Half of these have already been repaired. My butler had a very busy day yesterday after she barged in at eight in the morning. Scared the hell out of Dick." He recalled something. "Here's something for you; she had a cop with her, a guy named Lacey. He seemed pretty off-put by her methods. I don't know if he'd talk or be able to give you anything useful if he did, but…it seems like it's worth a shot."

"Lacey…" Keith scribbled down. "Right. No, that's great; we'll get him tracked down right away and see if he can help. The nice thing about his being with the police is that he's almost certain to spill, and a uniform always carries a bit more weight when it comes to testimony. I'm glad you told me that, it could be a major point in our favor." He flipped back through his documents. "Well, that's everything I had for you. I'll call if we get the continuance; otherwise, I'll see you at the old Mercer courthouse day after tomorrow at three."

"…Thank you, Mr. Jones," the billionaire said sincerely as they shook. "I…I really do appreciate the efforts your firm is making on my behalf. On Dick's behalf. It's very important to…to us both."

"Anything we can do to help."

…_Well, that didn't really improve the day any,_ Bruce huffed a few minutes later while the elevator lowered him back to the parking garage. _But at least,_ he reflected as the doors opened, _there's no Anaxas leaning on my car, and it's too late to go back to the office. Which means,_ a tiny smile managed to make its way to his lips for the first time that day, _that I get to go home and see a certain kiddo. And give this to Alfred,_ he added, glancing down at row after row of 'necessary' repairs and alterations for the house. _We're not done fighting yet, chum. I don't care if I have to pad every wall and floor in the place to make them happy, they are __not__ taking you away from me. Not now, and not ever. _

_You're __mine__, god damn it._


	68. Chapter 68

"…Master Dick?"

Alfred's light knock made the boy turn in his seat, then jerk back to keep the book on his lap from sliding to the floor. "Hi," he greeted.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," the butler apologized, advancing across the library. "Goodness, but it's dark in here," he added as he reached the side of the chair his charge was sprawled across and pulled the cord on a nearby floor lamp. "You really ought to have another light on, young sir. You'll ruin your eyes, reading like this."

"Oh. Sorry," Dick blushed a little, looking away. "We…we didn't have the greatest lights in the…the trailer. Sometimes when we were low on propane and didn't have money for more yet we'd just use candles. I guess I'm sort of used to doing stuff in the dark more than some people are," he shrugged. "But I don't want to ruin my eyes, either, so thanks."

"Not at all. Your eyes coincide with my reason for being here, as a matter of fact, since Robin will need both excellent vision and his completed costume in order to help Batman to the best of his abilities."

The child drew a deep, excited breath. "…It's finished?" he asked eagerly, closing the book and scrambling to his feet. "Already? No way!" _Perfect,_ he cheered to himself. _Now I can ask him tonight, when he sees it…_

He had worked out a hopeful plan after Batman had told him to go to bed the night before, laying awake and stroking Elinor's ear pensively as he chewed his lip and schemed. _…I need a way to prove myself, to prove __Robin__, to Bruce. I don't mind running the radio, but I want to help him in other ways, too. I want to go out in the field with Batman, and I want to help him catch bad guys. What I want even more than that, though, is for him to stop hiding things from me. I know I was upset when I found out that Zucco really __was__ the one who…who did it,_ he'd sniffled, _but…well, if Bruce had just told me about the test then at least he would have been right there to help make me feel better. Now, though, I know all about it and he won't be able to do anything even when he gets home, because he doesn't know that I know. And I can't tell him, either, because I was sneaking…crap._

_I want to go after him,_ he'd thought decisively as he stared up at the ceiling. _I want to help send him to jail. I want…I want revenge. I know that's bad, but…it's how I feel. I don't want to hurt him or anything, I just want him to be punished for…for killing them. And I know that Bruce probably thinks it will be enough for me to just know that Zucco's off the streets, but…it isn't. I guess maybe he doesn't quite understand that part because he never found out who killed __his__ parents, so he never had one person to focus on, but…I want to be part of it. I __need__ to be part of it. _

_But Batman's close now, I know he is. He's already snuck into the fertilizer plant once; the next time he goes to Newtown, I bet he'll take Zucco down. That means I don't have much time to convince him to take me with him, and it's __not__ going to be easy._ _But I have to do it, somehow.__ If my Robin costume is ready in time, maybe that will help. Plus…hmm…I could start working on moves, too. Maybe if I get some practice in tomorrow morning while he's at work I can have a couple polished up enough to show after he gets home._ His guardian had shown him two very basic defensive actions in between everything else they'd gone over in the cave on Sunday, but the boy had ideas about turning parts of his floor and bar routines into fight-worthy maneuvers. _If I come up with an original kick or something, he'll __have__ to let me help,_ he'd logicked as his eyelids shut of their own accord.

To his surprise, he woke only once during the course of the night. The nightmare that had shoved him in consciousness was fuzzy and fading fast, however, and rather than running straight for the master suite he found himself blinking at the small light near the door. _…Huh. I know that was a bad dream, but…I don't even remember what it was about. That's really weird…_ He debated going to Bruce, not so much because he was still disturbed by the vision but rather because it had now become habit to seek out his comfort following any sort of sleep terror, and finally rejected the idea. _I'd like to,_ he considered, _just because he gives good cuddles, but…I don't know if I can hide that I went through the files from him, especially if he asks me right after I wake up or something. I hope I put them back in the right order…I think I did. He might still notice, though…yeah, I should stay here. I don't __need__ to go to him right now, I just __want__ to. But I need to help with Zucco more than I want a hug, so…_

He hadn't stirred again until Alfred came in to wake him for the day. His first question had been whether or not the billionaire had left already; hearing an affirmative answer, mixed emotions had flooded him. _It would have been nice to see him once I'm awake and can sort of…be on my guard, I guess,_ he thought distastefully. _But maybe this is better. I hate hiding things from you, Bruce…I wish I didn't have to. I wish you'd just told me everything to begin with. _

As he'd planned, he'd spent much of the morning in the civilian gym, his determination to prepare something good to show off overwhelming the disappointment he'd felt when he'd been informed over breakfast that he wasn't going to the lawyers' office that afternoon. By the time lunch was announced he was sweaty and tired, but pleased with the progress he'd made in transforming part of his floor routine into a series of blows that kept him moving. _Bruce said it's important not to stand still when you're on the defense,_ he reminded himself, reviewing the flow of motions in his head as he changed and made his way to the kitchen with a spring in his step. _I think he'll like what I came up with today._

Showing him those moves in costume, he realized as he followed the butler down the stairs and into the cave a few hours later, would be the perfect presentation. _He can really see Robin in action that way,_ he thought giddily. _Maybe it will make it seem more real to him…_ "…Oh, _wow_, Alfred," he sighed a moment later as a hanger was pulled from the rack where the various parts of Batman's suit hung. "That looks so amazing…" A delirious grin wreathing his face, he stretched out one hand to touch the shimmery yellow cape lining. "It's _so_ pretty…thank you," he threw himself forward, trapping the clothing between them as he wrapped his arms around the Englishman's waist. "Thank you _so_ much. It's perfect."

"I'm very glad you like it," came from above as a hand cupped the back of his head for just a moment. "You ought to try it on before Master Wayne gets home. If there are alterations that need to be made, I may still have enough time."

"Sure!" Taking the hanger in one hand and his boots – they were the one thing that Alfred had had to purchase, since there had never been a reason to keep child-sized footwear in with the disguise pieces – in the other, he bounced at a half-jog into the shower area, wanting to present himself all at once. _…Oh, man, I look __awesome__! _he squealed silently when he caught sight of his fully-garbed reflection in the mirror. _Wow…if I just had a mask, too…I should ask Alfred about that, actually._ _But first…_

"What do you think?!"

The man jumped. "I didn't hear your approach, young sir," he shook his head as he turned, blinking rapidly in his surprise. "You changed rather quick-oh, my," his tone softened as he saw the boy. _I wasn't wrong, I see; it's horribly gaudy, right up until the moment it goes on you. After that, it's simply perfect._ He raised a hand to his mouth in an attempt to cover the toothy smile that he could feel wrestling its way past the bulwarks of his outward stoicism.

"…Is it okay?" Dick asked anxiously when there was no further comment. "It…it doesn't look _bad_, does it?"

"Pardon? Oh, certainly not, Master Dick. It looks wonderful. It's very _you_, there is absolutely no doubt about that."

"It doesn't look _too_ much like a circus costume, does it?" _No one can know who we are, and if it look like my trapeze clothes…well, that would be really bad._

"No, the cape and the belt do a great deal to distance it from that style." Eyes critical now, Alfred circled the child slowly. _Were he going to be wearing this in the field, I see several places that I'd like to take it in a bit more,_ he judged. _But then in that case it would have to be made of different materials entirely. It's a moot point either way, since he'll not be venturing out of the cave in costume anytime in the foreseeable future. _"It's lovely, and it suits you well, in my opinion. What do _you_ think of it?"

"…I think something's missing," he broached cautiously.

"Indeed? What would that be?"

"Well…wouldn't it look better if I had a mask? I mean, the whole point of the costume is to cover up our identities, so…" He shrugged, unable to think of any further arguments, and waited.

"Seeing as how Robin's clothing is only to be used right here," the butler chided, "I'm not sure I see the need." _I don't mind fighting for you to emulate Batman with a few harmless items, but a mask…that's a bit too far, I think. That __will__ start to give you ideas, and we can't have you sneaking off and getting in over your head or anything like that._

"But…what if someone drops by? Like through the Zeta tube?" he gestured at the transporter. "I know Superman knows who we are, but couldn't someone who doesn't know come through? What if I'm down here working the radio for Batman, and that happens? That would be really bad, right?"

…_He does have a point, but such things happen extremely rarely. Besides, under that logic __I__ ought to wear a mask whenever I'm down here, and I'm hardly likely to begin doing that._ "That is a question I think you should address to Master Wayne," he passed the buck with no qualms whatsoever. "Would you like to show him your costume tonight before he goes out on his patrol?"

"Yes!" _Patrol? So…he's probably __not__ going to Newtown tonight. Unless maybe he's planning to and he just hasn't told Alfred yet…hmm. I guess I'll just ask him tonight. Maybe he'll tell me the truth._

The rest of the afternoon dragged by with a painful slowness that was only exacerbated by his nerves. _…I hope he doesn't get mad when I ask about going out again,_ Dick fretted as he took the initiative and performed a number of his cave chores without being reminded. He'd changed out of his Robin clothes, not wanting to risk the billionaire returning home and finding him in them before it was time for the presentation, and now ran his hand along the Batmobile's sleek hide, heading for the trunk. _I just…he has to understand, right? It's Zucco. It's the man who took them from me. I __need__ to be part of this…_

Restocking the back of the car was easy, since Batman hadn't used anything from it the night before, but he took a moment to open up the different cases and see what was inside them, intrigued by all of the neat gadgets that the man ran around with. _It's really nifty how everything has its own special container,_ he mused. _That must make it super easy to just grab what you need and go, like if you want to use something away from the car. Plus you'd always know where everything was, and if you needed to make room for something else it would be really fast to just pull out a few of the boxes you weren't going to need on that trip and shove whatever it was into that space. That's so cool. _He sighed. _Everything down here is cool. __Batman__ is cool. I just…I just wish I could be cool like that, too. _

"Master Dick?" Alfred summoned him suddenly from the bottom of the stairs. "Master Wayne has returned."

Gulping, he slammed the trunk lid closed. …_Showtime._


	69. Chapter 69

"…Hey, kiddo," the billionaire gave a tiny smile as the boy padded up to him. Having been plagued the entire way home by the less-than-hopeful prognosis Jones had given him, he couldn't resist the urge to bend down and pick him up. A giggle sounded in his ear as thin arms entwined themselves around his neck, and he had to close his eyes. _I can't lose this,_ he cried mentally, squeezing. _I can't lose __you__._

Following the youth down the hall from the clock, Alfred entered just as his elder charge lifted his younger's feet off the floor. _…Bad news, I must assume,_ his lips pursed as he watched a wave of desperation come over the other man's face. _Damn that woman._ "…Master Wayne," he nodded when he'd had a moment to collect himself. "Have you already shed your coat, or…?"

_He knows something's wrong,_ Bruce was certain from his expression. _And he knows it's bad enough that I don't want to talk about it in front of Dick. _He tried to imagine himself explaining to the child whose face was currently buried against his neck that there was a chance they would lose their case, and couldn't. _I don't know what's better, chum, preparing you for that possibility so that it isn't such a shock if…if I can't figure this out,_ he shuddered, _or keeping it under wraps so that you can at least not worry about it for the next two days. If I tell you, I know your nightmares are going to come back…god, I don't want that. Not when it seems like they've finally gotten a little better._ "No, I left it at the office. It got warm out this afternoon. In fact," he directed to the load in his arms, "I'm surprised you aren't playing outside."

"I was doing my chores downstairs," the youth answered, lifting his head. "That way you don't have to worry about your supplies when you go out tonight."

_Good boy. _"Yeah? What else did you do today?" _God, I missed you. Tell me everything._

"Just kind of hung around," he shrugged, eyes glinting. "I read for a while, and…worked on some other stuff."

"'Other stuff'?"

"It's a secret. I'll show you later, though."

"Secret stuff, huh?" The corners of his mouth twitched a bit higher. "You're really going to make me wait for it?"

"Yes. I want everything to be perfect."

"I don't know, kiddo, I'm a very impatient man." His tone was almost jesting, his mood picking up simply from being near him.

"No you aren't," Dick shook his head. _Not with me, at least._

"You don't think so?"

"No."

"Well I'm glad _someone_ thinks I'm patient." Giving him one more squeeze, Bruce let him back down to the ground. "Did you hear that, Alfred?"

"I heard it, sir, but I think Master Dick may be biased," the butler opined. "You are rather more indulgent with him than you are with, say, your business contacts." _Or with anyone else on the planet, for that matter. _"Since you are home on time, your dinner will be ready shortly."

The other two looked at each other. "…What do you what to do until then?" the child asked.

"Since we don't have much time, why don't we go into the den and check the news?" _I'm afraid you're going to figure out that something's wrong if you aren't distracted, and I don't want to tell you what the lawyers said. Not if your nightmares really went away last night._

"TV news?"

"Yeah. Is that okay?"

"Sure," he shrugged. _If we're watching the news, you probably won't ask about the files. Although…they were gone from the counter,_ struck him suddenly. _You must have put them away last night when you got back. But…wouldn't you have asked me already, if you thought I'd read them? Huh…I don't know. I would think so, but you're Batman. You can be sneaky._ "Think they'll have a story on Batman?"

"I doubt it." _I haven't done much for them to take note of in Gotham recently, not between Zucco, Randall, and getting you situated. _"But you never know."

On the couch, Dick curled up under his guardian's elbow and leaned against his side. _I know you don't trust me as Robin yet, Bruce, or even really just to know things in general, but…I'm not mad about it. I still want to be close to you. I missed you last night._

"No nightmares last night, huh?" the billionaire queried as he turned on the television.

_Uh-oh. Don't ask about last night, please…I don't want to lie to you._ "No," he shook his head. "Well…one, but it wasn't really that bad. I don't even remember it. It woke me up, but I went back to sleep."

"…Well, that's good. I'm…glad that you slept well." _I really __am__ happy to hear that,_ he insisted silently. _Even if it does mean that…that maybe you don't need me quite as much as you did. _

The news droned along for twenty minutes before anything of great interest was mentioned. Dick was half-asleep, his worry and nervousness fading under the warm security blanket of Bruce's arm, when he felt the man tense suddenly. "…What's wrong?" he peeled his eyes open.

"Nothing."

"…But you're all rigid now," he peered upwards curiously.

_Shit. Well…he knows I talked to __someone__ about Zucco, I just hadn't given him a name. It should be okay to tell him about this._ "Did you hear what they just said?"

"Um…no. I guess I was sort of tired."

"A man named Jasper Quindley was killed in Newtown last night. He was the person I spoke to about…Zucco," Bruce revealed.

"…Do you think Zucco had him killed?"

"I don't know," he shook his head. "It's possible. Quindley seemed to be the person most likely to pose a threat to him, even in the state he'd been reduced to." _More importantly, Quindley talked to Batman. Evidently that's a death sentence in Zucco's book._

"So you don't think he knows that Quindley talked to you about him?"

…_Too smart, damn it,_ Bruce thought, pleased by this latest evincing of Dick's intelligence but unhappy that he was going to have to dodge the question that that quickness of mind had led to. "It's hard to tell. Quindley seemed pissed but fairly docile the other night; he was willing to share what he knew because he wanted Batman to take care of his problem for him. If he was planning something on his own, he didn't mention it." _If Zucco knows he's being investigated, that's going to make this a hell of a lot more dangerous. _If he'd had any qualms left about keeping information about the case from the boy, this latest development rid him of them. _I don't like lying to you, chum, but no matter how mad you get at me for it, it's still better than you not being here to __be__ mad._

"Huh." Dick frowned. _At least he finally told me the guy's name. I guess that's something._ _I wonder if he'll tell me anything else if I ask right?_ "Did…did you figure out a motive yet?"

"…No."

"So all we have now is what Quindley told you about Zucco, and he's not even alive to tell a judge," he sighed. "…You're not going to be able to get him, are you?"

"I'll get him, Dick," the billionaire said fiercely, gripping his shoulders as he turned to face him. "He's not going to get away with it."

"But if you don't have any other evidence…how can you get him arrested for it? I mean…you said Quindley had his own reasons for saying bad things about Zucco. Don't you need more than that before you go after him? What if it wasn't even _him_?"

Bruce hesitated. _I wish I could tell you about the nitric acid test, but…it's better that you still think it's too soon for Batman to go after him. It __is__, really – I'd much rather have a known motive before I move in than deal with trying to establish one afterwards – but the fact that he's killed an informant, and ones with the chops of Jasper Quindley at that, scares me. He wouldn't be the first criminal to decide that the best way to protect himself was to just wipe out everyone involved, and if he goes that route you'll be target number one. It would be a hell of a risk, crossing into Gotham to go after you, but then he hopped the jurisdictional line to begin with, and Batman's already after him, so…shit._ "I'm still convinced that it was Zucco," he answered slowly. "And I'm going to find more evidence of it, and see him arrested and punished for what he did. I will chase him until either he or I are dead, or he's in jail. I promise," he stared into his eyes gravely.

"…I wish you wouldn't say things like that," Dick breathed back, his craftiness fleeing before a rush of distress.

"Like what?"

"Like…about you…dying," a shiver ran through him. "Don't…don't talk about that. Please."

"Oh…I'm sorry, chum, I didn't mean it like that," the billionaire said remorsefully. "C'mere." _Good job, genius,_ he berated himself as he pulled the child close. _Remind him that his parents' killer is still on the loose, and then talk about how you're going to chase the guy down until he gets you, too. That's a __great__ way to keep his nightmares from coming back._

"I know. I just wish…I just wish this was over, Bruce." _I wish you wouldn't lie to me, too. Why won't you tell me about the test you did? This isn't fair, they were __my__ parents, and now you…now you're going to go after him. He can't take you from me, too. He just __can't__. I won't let him. _

"It will be over soon, kiddo. Everything will be okay." _I hope I'm not lying to you again when I say that. The Randall case is at a standstill, the Zucco case just got uglier, and I could lose you entirely day after tomorrow. Fuck my life…_

They were still bundled together a minute later when Alfred came to fetch them for dinner. They ate quietly, both lost in their own thoughts and fearful of broaching any topic that might lead the other towards their respective secrets. As they were finishing up, the butler reappeared with a proposition. "Master Dick," he suggested, "why don't you go on ahead downstairs and finish preparing your surprise for Master Wayne? We'll join you in, oh, ten minutes or so."

"…It's not too early?" the child asked hesitantly. _It would be better closer to patrol time, I think, but…I can't make that argument without giving away what I'm going to ask. Crud. _He frowned slightly. _…This is __hard__._

"I don't believe so, do you, sir?" the Englishman addressed to his elder charge.

"No. I told you earlier, Dicky, I'm impatient. I want to know what my surprise is."

"You do still wish to do things in that manner we discussed, don't you?" Alfred pitched in.

"Yes!" he nearly squealed. "I'm just…you know…"

"Nervous?" the billionaire filled in.

"…Yeah." _And afraid you're going to be mad. Mostly that, actually._

_It's got to be his costume,_ Bruce decided. _I have to remember to act like I haven't seen it before…I just hope it's less ridiculous looking __on__ him than it was lying on the chair last night. _"Don't be," he stretched his leg out to nudge the boy's foot under the table. "I'm not."

"…What if it was, like, a giant tarantula or something?" Dick smiled slightly, diverted. "Shouldn't you be nervous about it being something like that?"

"I've gotten worse surprises," he winked. "Scarier ones, too. Now go on like Alfred said, huh?"

"Okay," he nodded, sliding down off of his chair. "See you in ten minutes!"

Both men watched him hustle out of the room before turning to one another. "…Well, sir?"

"We go to court in two days, unless something changes. Jones…Jones suggested that the short notice doesn't bode well," he disclosed, his voice growing a bit hoarse. "I told him about Lacey, that cop who came with Randall yesterday morning, but…he made it sound really bad. I don't know what to do," he moaned suddenly, leaning his face in his hands. "We have the solution in our hands, for Christ sake! If there was just some way we could get that manuscript to the police without it being in any way attached to us…without that, though, we're going to lose him. I'm _terrified_ that we're going to lose him…"

Despair flooded the butler, but he maintained a positive mien for the sake of the figure who was practically in tears before him. "Something is sure to come up in our favor," he said firmly. "You have evinced a remarkable capacity in the past for turning hopeless situations around; I, for one, have all the trust in the world that this will be one of those occasions." _It must be,_ he pled. _If he's taken from you now, it will undo all of the good I've seen come over you these past two weeks. And Master Dick…no, he simply cannot be put back into that…what was it you called it, the very first evening? Oh, yes…that children's hell._ He suddenly recalled how the coarse jumpsuit they'd given the boy at the Center had scratched at his hands as he'd bundled it into the furnace, and a chill ran down his spine. "He will _not_ revert to that intolerable she-devil's control. Neither you nor I will allow it. Is that understood?"

Bruce nearly laughed. _Get him fired up about something, and he's scarier than Batman. I almost feel bad for anyone who might try to take Dick away from us; they're in for a hell of a fight._ "…Thanks, Alfred."

"Of course, sir." He paused. "In regards to your case against the young master's social worker…are you planning on showing him the documents you found?"

"He knows what I found last night, but…I don't know if I want him reading it." _Some of the things she wrote make __me__ sick, and I'm not the one she still wants to do them to. _

"Yes…understandably so. It's rather coarse material for a child, even one such as him. Although you must realize that he's bound to inquire about it, since he was your helper at the time of its discovery?"

"I'm hoping he'll have forgotten, but…you're right. I just don't know what to tell him, that's the problem."

"If I may, sir, I'd advise that you tell him the truth."

"The _truth_?"

"Yes. Simply explain that it's nasty stuff and that his perusal of it won't help your investigation."

"…Do you think that will be enough, though? He's a good kid, but…"

"All you can do is try and hope, Master Wayne. Lying to him about it seems unlikely to do anything but hurt, and he's had plenty enough of that in recent weeks."

"…True." _If I have to lie to him to keep him from harm, though, I'll do it. I'm not enjoying it by any stretch of the imagination, but…I'll bear that pain, if it makes him safe. _"Let's head downstairs," he jerked his head in the direction of the cave's entrance. "I've got a surprise waiting." _And even that will be an untruth, since I already know what it is,_ he sighed to himself. _My entire life is a lie…a lie with a cause, sure, but still a lie. _A wry grimace twisted his lips as the butler followed him into the hall. _I even lie to myself, Dick. How can I ever hope to be fully honest with anyone else, even you? I'm sorry. You deserve the truth – god knows you've earned it – but I don't have the spine to give it to you._

_Forgive me._


	70. Chapter 70

"…Dick?" Bruce called when they reached the bottom of the stairs. "Are you ready for us?"

"Be out in a second!" came from somewhere behind the various racks and boxes that delineated the costuming area.

"Remember," Alfred murmured, "you haven't seen this before now." _I very much don't want him to learn that I gave you a private viewing of his outfit before it was ready. Even if it wasn't a serious transgression of his trust, the knowledge would take some of the fun out of this for him, and_ _that would be awful. Especially,_ he added with extreme displeasure, _if things with the court are about to become as uncertain and awful as I fear they may. The poor child deserves all the joy he can possibly get. Let's not ruin this moment for him._

"Close your eyes, Bruce!" an eager voice requested.

The billionaire obliged him. "Okay, I'm ready."

Dick peeked out from between two of Batman's heavy capes, only showing his face until he knew that his guardian had followed orders. When he saw that everything was ready, he popped out, threw his arms out wide, and let loose an exclamation. "Ta-da!"

"…Does that mean I can look?" Bruce asked, the left side of his mouth spasming as he tried to contain his amusement at teasing the child.

"Bruuuce." Skipping up impatiently, he tugged on the man's sleeve. "Look!"

"Okay, okay." Dropping his gaze to find the boy all but standing on top of him, bright blue stare beaming upwards, he smiled. "Kind of hard for me to see what you're wearing when you're that close, kiddo," he commented offhandedly.

In an instant Dick was several feet away, an expectant and somewhat unsettled look on his face as he waited for a reaction. "…Well?! What do you think?"

_Alfred was right about the way it looks when he's in it. It just…suits him, somehow. I can't explain it._ "Whoa," he tried to look shocked. "…I think it's colorful."

Narrow shoulders slumped. "You don't like it?" was whispered, a pout already forming. _Crud. He hates it. He'll never let me out in it if he thinks it's stupid…but I like it, so why doesn't he? Is this a bread crusts thing? Alfred went through so much trouble…_

"Hey, now, I didn't say that," the billionaire answered immediately, dropping to one knee as he felt one of the butler's signature glares taking aim at the back of his head. _Shit, I don't want you to think I'm rejecting Robin,_ he fretted. _I mean, so long as you stay in the cave, Robin's fine, but…_ Reaching out, he grabbed the edge of the black-and-yellow cape and pulled its wearer forward. "…It's bright and happy and well executed," he opined when they were face to face. "Just like you are. I think it's perfect."

"You're…you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No. I'm not. If you like it, then I like it."

"Well…I _do_ like it, but…" Dick trailed off, sensing his opportunity.

"…But what?" Bruce replied cautiously, fairly certain that he knew where this was going and not liking it one bit.

"Don't…don't you think it would look better with a mask?" _Don't get mad. Don't get mad. Please, __please__ don't get mad… _"I mean…what's the point of having a costume if my face is totally uncovered?"

It wasn't quite the request he'd been expecting, but it was irksome nonetheless. "You don't need a mask. Robin isn't going in the field, remember? No one who doesn't already know who you are will be able to see your face."

"What if someone came here, though? Like through the Zeta tube? You said lots of people who use it don't know who you are."

…_And here we are, all standing around in our civvies,_ the man scowled. _I can't believe I never thought about that. Then again…_ "…Those people know not to just come in unannounced, and to cover their eyes until Batman says so if they do." _At least they'd __better__ know to do that much._

"…Oh." _So much for that idea,_ the boy sighed internally. _I still __really__ need a mask, though. I can't go after Zucco without one, and Bruce never showed me where he keeps them. If he even __has__ any regular masks…maybe he only has cowls. I don't want one of those, they look heavy. I don't know how he stands it…_ "I…I have one other surprise for you," he revealed quietly. _I guess I might as well try this one last thing…_

"You do?" The billionaire shot the butler a questioning look, but the older man merely shook his head slightly, equally as out of the loop about this second bit of unexpectedness. "What is it?"

"I've been working on something. I practiced all morning, just to show you," Dick scuffed his foot back and forth, not looking up.

"Practiced what? The defensive maneuvers I taught you?"

"Well, those, yeah, but…I turned part of one of my old floor routines into…well…into fighting moves." He blushed, nervous now not because he feared that his guardian would be angered but rather because he felt he hadn't had enough time to really perfect the combination. "It's probably not very good, though," he blurted out. _…That was a dumb thing to say. Why would he want to see something that even __I__ don't think is good? I should have kept working on it this afternoon. I was just so sore after lunch…_

Bruce's determination to keep the slightly downtrodden-looking youth safely locked up in the cavewasn't quite enough to quiet his curiosity. _…How did he turn a acrobatics show into something viable for a fight?_ he wondered, watching as the boy's lower lip disappeared back between his teeth. _He says it's not very good, but…I don't think he would have mentioned it at all if he really believed that. _"…Show me," he requested slowly.

"…What?" _Wait, really?_

"Show me. Show me what you came up with," he jerked his head back towards the training area. "But on the mats, not out here." _No injuries for court,_ he shuddered. _They'll crucify me and hand you right back to Randall._

"But…I mean, if you're not going to let me go out, there's not really a point…I don't want to waste your time, Bruce."

"Chum, would you stop trying to sabotage yourself and show me already?" A pointed face came up at that, uncertainty and hope mingling in its expression. _Yeah, I know what you're angling for here. You're not going to get it, but that doesn't mean that I'm not interested in the efforts you've put in to convince me. _"…I want to see. Please?"

_Even if he doesn't decide to let me help him for real, at least he still wants to watch. And who knows, maybe it will convince him, after all!_ "…Okay," he nodded. "Let's go, I've…I've got it all set up."

"'All set up'?"

"Um…yeah. You'll see." Grabbing his guardian's hand, Dick led him around the small outcropping of rock that obscured part of the training area, Alfred trailing behind them with an intrigued visage. "I didn't need a whole ten minutes to change," he explained as they drew to a stop. "So I thought this would make it more interesting to watch."

Bruce boggled slightly. Two punching bags had been wheeled over on their stands and stood opposite one another, some ten feet separating them. Beyond that was a white canvas duffel, stuffed with something lumpy and standing on its end. "Dick, what is this?"

"I guess it's sort of an obstacle course," he shrugged. "Like, if those were…you know…bad guys." _You're going to be so mad. This was crazy, you've only said like a million times that I can't go out as Robin, so why would this would change anything?_

"...You've got a routine that will let you take out all three of those…bad guys?" _There's no way. How would you have practiced that without supervision? _His gaze flitted to the butler. _…No, he looks just as conflicted about this as I do. Huh._

"I…I think so?" _I shouldn't have said anything. This is __Batman__, he's not going to be impressed by a couple of dinky little kicks! And what if I __miss__?_ he thought in horror. "It's okay if you think it's stupid, I don't have to do it," he offered.

"…I don't think it's stupid." _Those aren't cheap punching bags; they'll react to his blows pretty close to the way human flesh would. The laundry bag less so, but it will demonstrate his accuracy if nothing else._ "Show me."

"Um…I should tell you," Dick confessed, "I…I haven't practiced actually hitting them. I just…worked on the moves. Is that okay?"

"I won't know until you _do_ it, chum."

"…Okay," he gulped. _I'm going to screw up,_ he thought as he traipsed to a spot a number of feet back from the first goal. _I'm going to miss, and probably hurt myself, and then Bruce will be __really__ mad…but I can't back out now, he'll think I'm scared. Well, I __am__, kind of, but…I don't want him to think I'm chicken._ Finally, he took a deep breath and threw himself into a forward handspring. _Here goes nothing._

The first mark took a glancing blow from his elbow before he danced away towards the second. Cartwheeling, he planted both feet in what would have been the stomach of an average-sized opponent, pistoning his legs to launch away as the bag swung backwards. He'd thought that the duffel at the end would be easy to focus on, but the visual difference between it and his earlier goals confused him in the heat of the moment, sending him tumbling past. Realizing his error as a flash of white went by in his peripheral vision, he huffed and reversed, rolling over onto his side to change his direction of travel. Coming up behind it now, he leapt to his feet and kicked out stubbornly, knocking it over. As a coup de grace, he stuck his tongue out at the offending target. _Stupid sack of laundry._

An amused pair of chuckles reminded him of his audience. _Oh…was…was it that bad? They're laughing at me..._ Certain that he'd looked ridiculous, he shuffled over, head bowed. "How…how was it?" he had to ask.

Bruce bent down and levered the boy's chin up. "What are you looking at the floor for, Robin?" he asked.

"Um…I know it wasn't very good, okay? You don't have to pretend."

"I don't know what display you think we were watching, but…what I saw was pretty good," the man admitted, impressed despite his best efforts not to be. _Pretty __damn__ good. It really was. I know he hasn't had much time to work on that, and if he really hasn't practiced actually delivering hits…I can't even imagine how in tune he must be with his own body to be able to move and react like that. That doesn't mean I'm letting him go out in the field, or even considering letting him train for that,_ he clarified before Batman could butt in with his version of an 'I told you so.' _It just means that I'm…appreciating a natural talent._

_The sooner we begin grooming him, the better he'll be in the long run,_ the vigilante argued. _But at least now you're beginning to see the potential he possesses. Perhaps after Zucco…_

_After Zucco and a few years, I'll think about considering it. Besides, if…if we don't win on Thursday…_

_Right,_ came back grimly. _Although that's all the more reason to teach him further defensive basics before them. If nothing else,_ he overrode the objection already welling up, _it could be of use to him if he's taken away, even temporarily. If they put him back with Kevin…_

_All right! Jesus, back the hell off. I don't want to think about that. We're __not__ going to lose him,_ he swore. _…But just…just in case…we'll show him a couple more things tonight. Maybe even work on proper striking technique. Happy?_

_I have no objections._

_Good. _Internal debate complete, he turned his attention back to the slight form in front of him. "Dick…you did well," he complimented, seeing that his previous comment hadn't wiped the displeased look away.

"_Quite_ well," Alfred added. "I see you weren't wasting your time in the gym this morning. Suffice it to say that if anyone dares to try and accost us in the grocery store, young sir, I'll have no need to worry, provided you're with me."

"…But I couldn't do that in the grocery store, could I?" Dick frowned. "I mean, wouldn't that give Robin away?"

"If Robin were a known entity, yes, it would," Bruce agreed. "But I don't think you have to worry about anyone other than paparazzi and grandmothers attacking you at the store."

"…Grandmothers?"

Smirking, the billionaire gently pinched one of the boy's cheeks. "…No one's ever done this to you before?" he asked.

"Ugh, _that_. Tanti used to do that," he pulled away, rubbing at the slightly reddened spot. "She has these weird moods sometimes…I love Tanti, but it's annoying when she does that." He sobered. "…When she used to do that, I guess."

_Ah, shit. _"…Sorry, kiddo."

"It's okay," he sighed. "It's not your fault. And…things could be a lot worse, you know?"

"…Yeah. I know." _I'm not really sure __how__, but you don't need to know that._

"…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

The boy screwed up his courage. "Isn't…isn't there something Robin can do to help Batman?"

_Damn it, this again? I said __no__. _"You already do. You run the radio, just like last night. That's how Robin can help Batman," he said with strained patience, crossing his arms.

"But…you never needed anyone to run the radio before," was argued. "How come now all of a sudden you do? It's just a…a whatchacallit. A job someone gives you just so you have a job, not because there's anything that really needs done."

He paused. "A sinecure?" _You're not wrong, and that's remarkably annoying._

"Yeah, that. I want a _real_ job, Bruce. I don't want to just feel like I'm helping, I want to make a difference!"

"Dick," he started, exasperation flooding him as he prepared to repeat himself for what he swore must have been the hundredth time on this issue. "I want you to listen to me, because this is the last time I want to say this. I know you want to help Batman. You _do_ help, by being on the radio when he needs you. But you're _nine_, and untrained, and there are thousands, maybe even tens of thousands, of nasty people in this city who would do unspeakable things to you if they could."

"So _train_ me!" he begged, his control breaking somewhat. _Please. I __have__ to help you. I need to do this, Bruce!_

"_No,"_ the billionaire stressed. "Not for that. Not to go out. You can help me here, in the cave, and – if you want to – you can learn some more defensive moves. I'm willing to go that far, and _no further_. In a few years maybe we can rediscuss preparing you for fieldwork, but not now." _You're just a baby,_ he bit back. _Seeing you with a black eye was like being stabbed in the heart, I don't want to know what it would feel like if you were hurt worse._ "…Is that understood, once and for all?"

_That's it, _Dick recognized._ He's not going to change his mind. _"…If I agree not to ask about it again for a little while," he tried one last tack, "will you think about letting me have a mask? Just for the costume?" he tacked on quickly, sensing a storm rising in the man's mien. "It's just…it's the very last thing I need to really make Robin feel…you know, _real_." Without having to be thought about, his bottom lip pooched out, his eyes widening dolefully. "…_Please,_ Bruce? I promise I won't ask about going out with Batman again for a really long time, and I'll do all my chores, and practice everything you teach me, and-"

"Enough," Bruce cut him off, looking away. _…That __pout__. If that thing was any more effective, it would be illegal._ "I'll…think about it. That's no guarantee, though, all right?"

"Okay!" His pleading expression vanished instantly, being replaced with a broad grin. He leapt at his guardian, burying his face against his neck as strong, surprised arms kept him from falling. "…Thank you." _I still have to prove Robin to you and figure out a way to help you catch Zucco, since you don't want to let me,_ he thought determinedly. _But if you let me have a mask, that will be a lot easier. In fact…maybe I don't even have to do those two things separately. Maybe…maybe I can do them at the same time. Yeah. That sounds good. Show you how good I can be as Robin by helping to catch Zucco. I'll do that. And if you're really going to show me new moves, well…I have all day while you're at work to practice. Even if you go after him soon, I'll be way better by then. No matter how hard I have to work,_ he swore.

"…You're welcome, kiddo," his ire drained away in the warmth the child radiated. "Now…do you want to work on a couple of things before bedtime?" _A couple tonight, and a couple tomorrow,_ he planned. _That should give you a pretty good base to work with if…if…well, just in case. I want to make sure you can block, if nothing else…you're pretty quick, too, we'll work on some dodges…_

"Can we?!" he wriggled excitedly. "Please?"

"…You bet, chum." _Anything to keep you safe._


	71. Chapter 71

"Master Wayne, there's something I wish to apprise you of before you begin your day," Alfred commented as he held Bruce's jacket for him on Wednesday morning.

"What is it?" he inquired, sounding almost as exhausted as he felt. He'd gotten so caught up in teaching a still Robin-clad Dick defensive techniques that he hadn't left at his usual time the night before, and it had thrown his entire patrol off. _It doesn't seem to matter what I do with that kid,_ he'd mused just before he dropped the cowl down over his face, _it's always enjoyable. Hell, even our arguments end in hugs…_

His circuit of Gotham had been much needed by both the city and by Batman himself. It only ever took a couple of days of his absence for the local lowlifes to grow bold, and as a result there had been plenty for him to do. The rough physical activity let him burn off some of his frustration at the seeming standstill that both of his cases had reached, helping to clear his head, but it had left him dragging back home with little energy to spare. Collapsing into bed had sounded marvelous until he actually got upstairs and realized that, for the second night in a row, the boy was fast asleep in his own room. Alone and fearing what might happen in another thirty-six hours, he had tossed and turned, finally dropping into slumber about an hour before the butler came in to wake him. 

"…Master Dick's parents will be arriving today."

Bruce paused mid-shrug. _I almost forgot about that,_ he realized. "Have you told him?"

"No. I thought it might be best to wait until the work is done to let him know. There's no need for him to see the move take place, I don't think," Alfred opined as he straightened his elder charge's collar.

…_If they take him tomorrow, can they require that we move the Graysons __back__?_ the billionaire wondered. _If not, at least that would be an excuse for us to see him from time to time, maybe…damn it! Why can't they just leave the poor kid alone already?!_ "…That makes sense," he nodded. "I'll talk to him about it when I get home. Maybe push dinner back a little tonight so I have time to take him out there before it gets dark; I want him to know how to get to the cemetery on his own, in case he ever wants to go without one of us." _After I get Zucco,_ he added. _Not before._

"Of course, sir. I'll keep things under wraps until then."

"…Thanks, Alfred."

"Not at all," he replied, brushing his hand along the other man's shoulder a few more times than was strictly necessary in an attempt to lend surreptitious comfort. _You're all but humming this morning, my boy. I know you're worried about tomorrow – believe me, I know – but at this rate you're going to have a breakdown before then. Something simply must give…_

Bruce left the radio off the entire way into town. Only the large travel cup full of Alfred's strongest coffee that had been waiting for him when he climbed in kept him from dozing off at the wheel, and by the time he pulled into his parking spot it had been drained. _That man knows me entirely too well,_ he tapped the lid twice thoughtfully before heaving himself out of the car and heading for his office.

The morning dragged on interminably, becoming less and less tolerable as the caffeine wore off. Cynthia, seeing his state despite his attempts to appear chipper, offered to run downstairs to the café in the building's lobby and bring him something to perk him up, but he declined. Despite his statement to her that he wanted to power through so that he would sleep hard that night, however, when Lucius arrived unexpectedly at half-past eleven he was carrying two insulated cups.

"Here," the CFO said, handing the taller of the two over. "Drink that, would you? Your secretary said you were practically drooling on the prospectuses that advertising sent up."

"I told her I didn't want coffee," he groused. "I want to be able to get some rest tonight." _Although going out like this is probably a less-than-phenomenal idea. Damn it…I'll have Alfred mix me up an energy smoothie right before I leave, maybe. Those usually work pretty well, and they only last four or five hours, so I should still be able to go to bed…_ He yawned suddenly, earning himself an amused look from the man who had seated himself across the desk. "…Sorry."

"The coffee isn't to keep you awake for work, Bruce," Lucius explained, waving his apology away as he crossed his legs and took a sip of his own beverage. "It's so you don't kill yourself driving home after we talk."

"Am I going home at lunch?" the billionaire arched an eyebrow.

"Don't you think you ought to? Or are you getting copious amounts of work done that I'm just unaware of?"

"…Point taken." _A nap would be nice,_ a half-daydreamed thought floated past.

"You're an admirably hard worker, but you've got a lot going on this week. And I'm not talking about WE business, either." He paused. "I spoke with Keith Jones a little bit ago. He said he needs me in court tomorrow afternoon as a character witness."

"…It's going bad on me, Lucius," Bruce nearly whispered, leaning his head back against the chair. "He has the worst social worker in the fucking _world_, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it."

"She's really turning the screws, then? Any idea what for?"

"…She's got this idea that he needs rehabilitated," he shared, recalling her use of the term in the letter she'd sent along with his jacket a few nights after the circus.

The finances man blinked at him for several seconds. "The boy you introduced me to?" he asked, sounding astounded. "_That's_ who she thinks needs rehabilitated?"

"Yeah. Dick. It's ridiculous, he's..." _He's perfect the way he is._

"He certainly doesn't need any sort of rehabilitation, that's for sure. At least not unless the way he was around me was an act. And if it _was_ an act, Bruce, get him an agent fast, because that kid's going to be a movie star." He shook his head. "Ridiculous? That's _insane_."

"Tell me about it. And now she's making suppositions, and just _looking_ for any excuse to take him away." They were silent for a moment. "…She had him in a juvenile detention center when we first got him."

Lucius nearly choked on his coffee. "_What?! _Why?"

"I told you. She thinks he needs rehabilitated for crimes that, in her mind at least, he's bound to commit because of his background." _And that's all I can say about that,_ he thought regretfully. _I wish I could tell you more…_

"…Forgive my language, but that is _bullshit_."

"I know," he said, his voice strained. "But it's not illegal. The lawyers checked. And if she gets her claws in him again, she'll try and chuck him right back in there. The last time, his first roommate committed suicide and his second gave him such a nasty black eye that we had to have x-rays taken to make sure nothing was broken." His eyes closed against a spate of tears. "I can't let him go back to that place, Lucius."

"No. You can't. But…what can you do, Bruce?"

"…Money?" he winced. _God, I never thought I'd see the day when flat-out bribery seemed like…well, like something I'd even jokingly consider. The things you make me do, chum…_

"Even money will only take a good man so far. And you're too good a man for it take you as far as you'd want it to, in this situation. Besides…Dick's a fine kid. Don't you think he'd be disappointed that you were even bringing something like that up?"

"He'd be disappointed, sure, but he'd also be damn glad he didn't have to go back." Neither spoke for a moment. "It doesn't matter. I've already mentioned it in front of you, so now I couldn't do it, anyway."

"You wouldn't have done it, and we both know it."

"…Maybe not." _But…for him? Maybe so. I don't know. I don't want to have to find out._ Tipping his drink up, he quickly emptied the cup and dropped it into the trash. "I'm going home," he intoned, rising. "…I don't think I'll come in tomorrow." _Just in case. I don't want to look back on things and have to live with having spent what could have been a few more hours with him locked up in my office instead._

"Good idea," Lucius agreed, also standing. "…You'll win, I'm sure, but either way," he offered his hand, "good luck. I'll be there, but I still wanted to say that."

"Thanks," the billionaire said sincerely as they shook. "I have a feeling I'm going to need it. Just charm that judge the same way you do investors, okay?"

"Calling in a personal favor?" the CFO smiled.

"I think I'm calling in _all_ of them."

"…I'll see what I can do." And with that, their meeting ended.

An hour later, Bruce shifted into park at the base of the broad, curving steps that led to the manor's front entrance. _…Twenty-seven hours and counting,_ he groaned internally, glancing at the clock before he headed inside. _Let's make them all good ones. _

"Bruce!" a happy exclamation greeted him as he stepped through the door. He looked up from wiping his feet to find that Dick had stopped halfway across the foyer, a book under his arm as he made for the kitchen. "You're home early!"

"Hey, kiddo," he gave him a tired smile. "Reading all morning, were you?"

"Huh-uh," the boy shook his head as he skipped to a stop a few feet away. "I was in the gym, practicing what you showed me last night." _…And a few other things,_ he didn't add. "Alfred just came to get me for lunch a little while ago, but he said he had to go check on some guys doing work out in the back of the house somewhere, so I wanted to get something to read for while I was eating and he was outside. But now that you're here I'll have someone to talk to instead!" he beamed.

Food had been the last thing on the billionaire's mind before he walked in the door, but there was no way he was going to miss a minute of even the child's idlest chatter today. "Well then, let's go see if there's enough for both of us, huh?"

"Are you home for the rest of the day?" was asked as they proceeded down the corridor to the kitchen.

"I am. I figured I earned an early day." _More to the point, I figured you deserved to have as much time as possible with people who…who care about you…before tomorrow._

"Yay! Does that…does that mean we can spend the whole afternoon together?"

"You bet it does."

"Double yay! Alfred! Look!" he trumpeted as they entered the butler's domain.

"Ah, Master Wayne. Excellent timing. I've just set out your lunches," Alfred nodded to where two plates full of lightly seasoned chicken strips and mixed fruit sat on the breakfast bar.

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was coming home at lunch?"

"...Mister Fox called, of course, sir," he answered.

"…Oh."

"Now, if you'll both excuse me, I really must go and attend to these workmen…" He shot his elder charge a meaningful glance as he left the room, making it clear that the task he was venturing forth to monitor was the interment of the Graysons. "I'll be back shortly."

"We'll be fine, Alfred," Dick promised. "…Especially now that you're home," he added in Bruce's direction.

"…Thanks, kiddo," the billionaire reached over to ruffle his hair as they sat and began to eat, using their fingers rather than forks the instant the Englishman was out of sight.

"…I wish we had more chicken," the child frowned down at his plate when all that remained were chunks of brightly colored plant flesh.

"Craving protein? You must have been working hard this morning."

"…I just like chicken," he shrugged. _I did work super hard, but if I say that you might ask why, and I don't want to answer that question._

"Me, too. But fruit's good for you."

"Then how come you aren't eating your cantaloupe?"

"Because cantaloupe isn't a fruit, it's a torture device for the palate."

The boy giggled. "I don't like it, either. But won't Alfred get mad if we don't eat it?"

"…Just eat everything else he gave you. He should have known better than to serve us cantaloupe."

"Okay…I'm not a big fan of blueberries, either, though."

"No?" Bruce glanced over at him, then back at his own plate. "How about bananas?"

"I like bananas. Why, do you want to trade?"

"…Do _you_ want to trade?"

"Um…if you like blueberries, and I like bananas, and Alfred's not here to see us, wouldn't we be silly _not_ to trade?"

Chuckling, the billionaire orchestrated the transfer. _Best transaction I've made all week,_ he almost grinned. "…Done?" he asked a minute later.

"Yup!" Despite the verve in that single word, Dick stretched his arms up over his head and gave a mewling little yawn. "…I'm kind of sleepy."

"No nightmares again last night, though, huh?"

"Nope. Well, no bad ones." He paused, his face contorting as he realized what was implied by the question. "Bruce, _you_ didn't have any, did you?!"

"None I haven't had before, chum. It's okay."

"No it isn't! We made a deal, and I haven't been keeping my end of it!" Small fingers gripped the man's forearm. "I'm sorry! Is…is that why you really came home early? Because you're tired from bad dreams?"

"Not _just_ from bad dreams, but…because I'm tired, yes," he confessed. "I thought I might go take a nap, actually."

"Can I take one with you? Please?"

"Sure you can." _Like I'd say no to that._

Shortly after the kitchen had been abandoned, Alfred re-entered it, his expression growing contemplative when he saw the two carefully excluded stacks of cantaloupe that were all that remained of the food he'd set out. _I wonder if they switched anything. I do wish I'd been here to see that for myself…but then I was on a rather more important mission, I suppose._

Judging from what his informant had told him was the reason Bruce had come home at lunch, he traced the duo easily to the master suite. _Oh, for a camera at this very moment,_ he thought softly as he peeked in to find his charges bundled up together. _Not that you would be able to make out Master Dick,_ he added, noting that the younger of the pair was all but invisible due to the way he was curled and wrapped up in the elder's grasp. _If only I knew of some way to leave the two of you in this moment until I knew what the decision was. Perhaps then I might be able to soften the blow somewhat, if it falls…but I suppose it's pointless to dwell on the impossible._ Lips pursing, he pulled the door shut behind him, leaving them to their slumber.

Two hours later, the billionaire was awakened by gentle shaking. "…What?" he muttered gruffly.

"Master Wayne, everything is ready."  
_…Huh? Oh,_ he remembered his original plan for this afternoon as the lithe figure

in his arms stirred. _Right. His parents._ "…Thanks, Alfred."

"I'll leave you to it, sir. Take your time, I've not even started cooking your dinner yet."

"Right." When they were alone again, he began to rouse the boy. "…Dicky? Hey, kiddo, wake up."

"…Comfy," came back protestingly.

"Yeah, I was, too. But I was just informed that your surprise is waiting for you." He watched as dark eyebrows drew down in consternation, accompanied by a closed-eyed frown.

"…I have a surprise?"

"Yeah. But you can't see it from bed, so…"

"So we have to get up." For a second he was torn; lying here asleep with Bruce was so nice, but his natural curiosity ached to know what the man had prepared as a surprise for him. "…Okay," he said finally. "Let's get up."

"Good choice. Alfred would have come back and gotten us in a few minutes, anyway."

Dick's mind flew as they rubbed sleep from their eyes and traipsed downstairs. _What is it?_ he wondered when his guardian stopped him in the entryway and instructed him to put his jacket and shoes on. He managed to hold the question, however, until they stepped out onto the back lawn. "…Where are we going?"

"You'll see," the billionaire replied. "I want you to pay attention to how we get there, though, okay?"

"Um…okay," he shrugged, then reached up and took the man's hand, skipping along at his side as they advanced across the sloping grass towards a path cut through the trees.

Bruce had thought that the child might shy away from the woods after everything that had occurred with Anaxas less than a week before, but the merry swinging of their arms didn't slow as they passed into the shade. Fearful lest he suddenly take off and, - _god forbid_ – find Zucco lurking in the brush, he tightened his grip on the thin fingers that were tucked against his palm. _Stick close, kiddo. Please._

"…Ow."

"What's wrong?!"

"You're squeezing really hard."

"…Sorry."

The boy stopped and peered up at him. "…Is something wrong?"

"No," he lied. "I'm just excited for you to see your surprise."

"…Okay. Is…is it much further?"

"At the top of the next hill, you'll see it."

"Cool!"

Restored by their nap, they climbed easily, and as the trees thinned out at the apex the billionaire felt his stress ease slightly. _No one here but us,_ he cast an eye over the south-facing slope, cleared generations ago of all but a few of its arboreal specimens. Monuments dotted the field, their marble gleaming in the late afternoon sun, a few shoots of green struggling at their bases. The only one that could really be called ostentatious belonged to the Commodore, and he sat far enough removed from the others that he did not cast them into shadow. Bruce sighed quietly. _It's been a while since I was here,_ he thought. _Maybe…_ an idea struck. _Well, I don't know, maybe he wouldn't appreciate that. I'll play it by ear, I guess._

"Wait…this is…" Dick craned his neck and stared up at the man who had brought him here. "Are…are they here?" he whispered fervently.

"…Yeah, chum. They are." His gaze swept the opening again, now searching. "Right over there," he gestured to where the newest marker had been freshly planted.

The boy was gone in an instant, all but running towards it. A few dozen feet away he slowed, the names coming into view, and then came to a full stop when he reached the visible seam where the earth had been laid back down only hours before. _…Hi, mom and dad,_ he warbled sadly in silence. Then he fell to his knees, bent his face to the dirt, and cried.

Bruce watched as he made his way over at a much slower pace. _Crying,_ he turned his face away. _I should have been expecting that, but…I still hate it, Dicky. It hurts to see you so sad, even when you have every justification in the world._ Along the way he passed the back of his own parents' memorial, and paused for just a moment to rest his hand on it. _Mother. Father. I'll…I'll be right back. There's someone here who should meet you…_

He let the child go for several minutes, sensing that he needed a little space to grieve privately. When the sobs had reduced themselves to hiccups and he simply couldn't stand another moment, he advanced the last few yards and settled on the damp, yellowed foliage beside him. "…Hey, chum," he breathed, letting one hand come to rest on his shoulder.

"H-hi…" Swiping at his eyes, Dick sniffled. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Not for this. _Never_ for this."

Nodding, the boy gave a little cough, then leaned over. He was pulled close immediately, but even as he buried himself against his guardian's side his eyes stayed on the names carved into the graceful headstone. _…I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry, Daddy._ He sniffed again. _I'm so, so sorry…_ "…Bruce?" he ventured quietly.

"Hmm?"

"…When are you going after Zucco?"

Had they been anywhere other than where they were, the billionaire might have taken the question as a warning of what was to come. Kneeling in front of the marker for two of the fertilizer man's victims, however, it seemed like a perfectly natural inquiry. "…Soon, kiddo," he answered. _Tonight,_ he specified in his head. _I'll just have to hope that he talks when I grab him, because I can't wait any more. I won't risk them taking you from me tomorrow and Zucco still being on the loose. Even if I didn't fear him going after you, I want you to have that closure. I want to give you that while you're still here with me. It's the least I can do._

"…Thank you. Um…can I have just one more second with them, please?"

"You can take just as long as you want to, Dicky," Bruce answered, giving him a brief squeeze before retreating to where he'd watched from before.

Alone, the boy rose and stepped reverentially up to the standing stone. _'Soon.' I'll bet that means tonight, or maybe tomorrow night. Either way…I'm helping. I'm __not__ going to let Zucco take someone else from me, or from anyone else, either. I __will__ do it, mom,_ he swore fiercely, the pads of his fingers tripping along the letters carved into the rock._ Dad…I will. I'll help get that…that…oh, I don't know a really good curse word for him, but you know who I mean. I'll help make sure he can never hurt innocent people again. _

_I promise._


	72. Chapter 72

"So…" Dick ventured as they made their way down into the cave a couple of hours later. "…Did you, um, have a chance to think about whether or not Robin could have a…a mask?" _He can't get mad at me for asking about that,_ he decided. _I only promised not to ask about going out in the field. Besides, he __did__ say he was going to think about it._

Bruce sighed quietly. _I'd really prefer not to give you one, but…what harm is it going to do, really, between now and tomorrow? You haven't asked about going out since last night, and you seemed sincere when you said that you wouldn't. Besides, _he glanced over at the eager look in the boy's eyes, _it would make you deliriously happy, wouldn't it?_ "…I'm still thinking about it," he replied, pausing when a tiny groan of disappointment reached his ears. "…But I'll let you know before you go to bed tonight, okay?" _It'll be something good for you to go to sleep on, chum. I can see my way clear to giving you that._

"Okay!" _If he says no, I don't know what I'll do,_ he realized. He had been working on various aspects of how he might go about helping tackle Zucco ever since it had been made clear the previous evening that his presence at the takedown would not be sanctioned prior to the event, but only since he'd risen from his parents' graves had a real plan begun to coalesce. The mask was step one; without it, he would either have to come up with a viable substitute in extremely short order or scratch his ideas altogether. _I __have__ to go after him_, he swore. _I've __got__ to have a mask._

Driven by his determination to make his plan work as well as by a simpler desire to make his guardian pleased with his work, Dick pushed himself extra hard through his review of the techniques Bruce had instructed him in the night before."Not bad," the billionaire nodded. "Not too bad at all."

"I worked on my other thing, too. The floor routine turned butt-kicking."

"Yeah?" the man smirked at the description. "How's your aim on that last opponent?" _Although to be fair, you did a solid job of fixing your error,_ he allowed. _That quick-turn you did mid-tumble last night…that was impressive._

"I think it will be better now."

"Show me."

The marks were all still in place, with only the laundry bag requiring a little repositioning. He missed the last target again on what he immediately dubbed his 'warm up,' but his elbow connected with the first one much more effectively; on the second go-through, he left all three 'bad guys' hurting. "Yes!" he cheered, rolling to his feet.

"…That looked good," the billionaire said as non-committally as he could manage. Part of him was yahooing right along with the child; the rest of him, however, was advising caution. _Those aren't defensive moves, _he thought with a trace of displeasure. _They're completely offensive. He doesn't need anything so elaborate, and encouraging him to develop combinations like that will only make the topic of field work come up again that much sooner._

_It was well done, and of his own design,_ Batman objected. _He deserves to be supported in his acrobatic endeavors, even if they do lean towards offensive tactics. You __want__ to praise him_, he said imperiously. _I know you do._

_That isn't the point. Keeping him safe is the point._

_Aren't you the man who wants what may be his last evening here to be a happy one? How happy will it be if he doesn't feel that you're pleased with his improvement?_

Bruce didn't respond, focusing instead on turning the youth's attention back onto blocking and avoidance. They drilled for another two hours before he called a halt to their activity, which had devolved from escaping holds into playful wrestling. Lying on the mat with Dick propped up against him, both of them panting slightly from their exertions, he could almost pretend like there was nothing to fear in the next day.

"Can we do this again tomorrow night?" an innocent question was asked.

The billionaire flinched. _God, I hope so,_ he begged without words. "Sure, kiddo. That sounds good."

"I'll work on what you showed me some more while you're at your office tomorrow," the boy promised.

He bit his tongue just in time. _I wish I could tell you that I'm not going in tomorrow, because if the way you reacted to my coming home early today is any indicator you'd be ecstatic, but you'd also want to know __why__ I'm not going. You'd ask, and I'd end up telling you, and then not even my letting you have a mask would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Hell, __I__ might not even be sufficient comfort to let you sleep in that case._ "Good. Now let me up, and then go get changed." _It's getting towards when I need to leave, and I'd like an extra-long bedtime with you before then. I feel bad enough about going out tonight; if it was anyone but Zucco, I wouldn't. But I want him behind bars before daybreak, for you._

"…Changed? You mean…you want me to put my costume on?" Dick wrinkled his nose quizzically.

"How are you going to choose the mask that looks best with it if you aren't wearing it when you try them on?" Bruce queried nonchalantly, amusement dancing at the edges of his mouth.

The boy was off of him and on his feet in less than a second. "…Really?!" he yelped. "I really get one?!"

"Yes. On one condition, Dick," a large hand rocketed upwards to encircle a narrow wrist before it could scamper away. Their gazes met, one deadly serious, the other joyously eager. "I do _not_ want it to leave the cave without my direct say-so. Is that understood?"

"…Yes," he nodded. _I'm sorry, Bruce,_ he thought regretfully. _I know you don't want it, or my Robin costume, or __me__, to leave the cave, but…I have to. I don't have a choice. I have to go after him. I need to help bring him down._

_Good. He didn't hesitate as long this time before answering. Maybe he's finally starting to accept that Robin the field is not something that will be happening any time soon. _"Then go get changed and meet me over by where I keep the cowl."

"'Kay!" _Okay, step one. I hope that wasn't the __easy__ step, because if it was, I'm totally doomed…_

The selection process didn't take nearly as long as the billionaire had expected that it would. To his surprise, Dick showed no interest in anything that covered the majority of his face, claiming that it made him feel suffocated. _And here I figured you'd go for something approximating the cowl, trying to imitate Batman a little more,_ he mused, only willing to admit to a _little_ disappointment when green-gloved fingers plucked a narrow domino mask out of a drawer full of jumbled disguises. "…Is that the one?" he asked.

"Um…it's either that, or _this_," his other hand rose, clutching a rounder-bodied item with bright yellow edging. "…I don't know, what do you think?"

"…I think that bigger one will make it look like you're wearing a pair of Elton John's sunglasses."

He giggled. "I like him!"

"Where have you even _heard_ him?"

"…Mom used to sing along whenever one of his songs came on the radio," he answered softly, his mood dampening. "She…she always wanted to see him in concert, but…yeah." The bi-colored mask landed back in the pile. "This one," he said decisively, gripping the domino. "It'll look better with everything else."

…_I'm sorry, chum. I should have known it had to do with one of them, or someone else associated with the circus. _"Well, let's put it on, then," he said, holding up a bottle of spirit gum. "Do you know how to use this stuff?"

"Yeah. The makeup girls showed me. And…sometimes we wore masks in the show. For special events and…stuff."

_Damn it, I want this moment to be associated with good thoughts, not sad memories!_ "…Do you want help with it anyway?" _If you've got to be masked, Dicky…let me do it. At least this first time._

The boy chewed his lip for a moment, then looked up with a tiny grin that seemed to suggest that he knew there was an ulterior motive behind the offer. "Okay," he concurred. "I'd like that."

Neither spoke as Bruce dabbed the inside corners of the mask with the adhesive, then smeared a little in corresponding points on the child's face. "…Ready?"

"Ready," came back a little breathlessly.

"…There," the man murmured a minute later, only removing his hands when he was certain that the gum would hold. "All done." _Oh, kiddo, you were right,_ he observed with a twinge of delight. _That mask…it really does kind of complete your whole…thing._ "Take a look."

Dick turned to the mirror, stared for a second, and then gave a pleased little titter. "…This is so great, Bruce," he swiveled back to his guardian in order to embrace him. "Thank you for letting me have a mask." _I wish you'd let me go with you, so I wouldn't have to make you regret giving it to me…_

"Does it make you happy, chum?" he knelt down to query.

"Yes. It does," the child nodded honestly. "It really, really does." _I feel a little bit less useless already,_ he didn't add.

"Then I'm glad." _Look at you,_ a warm smile crept across his face as he straightened out the bumblebee-hued cape, snugging the high neck a bit tighter. _All decked out for crime fighting. That's my boy._ He faltered for a moment. _My__ boy…_ "Dick…I…" _Oh, hell._

"…Bruce?" _Is something wrong? He looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn't know what it is. Weird._

"I…have to go upstairs and talk to Alfred really quick," he substituted. _Not__ what I wanted to tell you,_ he sighed as he stood up. "You should change back into your civilian clothes, and I'll meet you upstairs in a few minutes to tuck you in. The spirit gum remover is in the drawer with everything else. But first," he bent back down to thumb closed the stark white lenses embedded in the mask, "make sure you keep those shut whenever you're in costume. Even though you'll only be in the cave, it's important." _If you __are__ ever able to go out in the field, you need to be used to having your eyes covered. _

"Whoa, I can _totally_ see through these! I wondered how that worked with your cowl…how do these things let me see but not you?"

"I'll explain another night." _If there is another night._ "C'mon, now, it's getting late. We need to get you to bed. I have work to do."

"Patrol?"

"…Yeah, kiddo. Patrol. Get changed," he ordered, moving away towards the stairs before the guilt he was feeling could spell itself out in his expression. "I'll see you upstairs."

"…Master Wayne," the butler looked up from a fresh batch of cookies as he entered the kitchen. "I was about to come down and remind you about the young master's bedtime."

"I'm going to tuck him in in a minute. I just wanted to let you know about tomorrow."

"Has it been postponed?!"

"No," Bruce grimaced. "It hasn't."

"…Ah. I see. My apologies for jumping to happy conclusions," he fell into a mildly dour expression.

"I'm not going to work tomorrow morning, so…just let us sleep in, okay?"

"I assumed as much, sir. Mr. Fox mentioned earlier that you would be taking the day off." _I had planned to simply call you out of work and let you remain abed unknowingly regardless, but there's no need for you to be aware of that._

"Good. Also…I gave Dick a mask."

"Did you indeed? I'm a bit surprised, I must admit."

"I know, but…it made him happy, Alfred. I'm not going to budge on the field work, but the mask was something so small, and it gave him so much joy…you should have seen his face."

"I wish you'd told me. I might have taken his picture."

Bruce nearly facepalmed. _Why didn't I think to do that?_ he berated himself. _He may never get to wear those clothes again. I can't even run back downstairs and tell him to put it all back on, because he'll want to know why we can't just do it tomorrow._ _I missed my opportunity…shit._ "Well, I feel like a dumbass."

"It's alright, Master Wayne," Alfred soothed, dropping dollops of dough onto a baking sheet. "I'm sure that by this time tomorrow evening we'll be laughing at our apprehension, and will have plenty of time to take photos of the young master in his complete costume." _If I'm wrong, we'll be so depressed that a picture would likely only make us feel worse, so…perhaps it's better this way._

"I wish I knew where you got that confidence from, because I sure as hell don't have any."

"My own is largely contrived, I'll confess," the Englishman disclosed.

"I couldn't tell from the way you're making cookies as if he'll still be here in twenty four hours."

"…I thought to send them along with him if he is…taken. Something to keep his spirits up, I suppose." He paused. "You've still not told him?"

"No. I want him to sleep well tonight. If…if they send him back to…you know," he couldn't say it, "he's not going to be getting much rest. The better his shape when he goes in, the better his shape when we get him back out. _If_ we can get him back out."

"I hate to suggest such a thing, sir, but it may come to pass that the only viable way for us to present the manuscript to the police will be for him to return to the Center for a night or two."

"…What?!" Bruce gaped. _Fuck no! What kind of a plan is that?_

"I know it sounds awful, and believe me I don't particularly like it either, but if it's made clear in court that you want him, and that he wants to be with you, it will be expected that you'll do everything you can after he's…taken…to get him back. The methods reasonably open to you at that point would include enlisting Batman's help. If asked, you need only state that you were initially concerned upon learning what happened to him during his first stint in the facility and by the social worker's bad attitude, but decided not to pursue something that you were assured by your attorneys was legal. After all, the boy was safe then, and you had other considerations – namely getting him settled in his new home – on your mind.

"Once they've placed him back in the facility, however, you gain the moral high ground, and with it potentially public favor and a kinder reputation in the courts. It would no longer look like a case of Bruce Wayne trying to destroy the career of a social worker who technically followed all of the rules, but rather an incident of a worried guardian looking after the welfare of the child he tried to adopt. No one other than Ms. Randall could possibly object to your bringing in of outside help at that point, and if what your man finds is damning to her…who's to complain?" Explanation complete, he slid the tray into the oven and set the timer. "Unless I've missed something, I think that plan is the only one likely to let us submit the evidence you've gathered to the proper authorities without raising a great number of eyebrows."

"…Alfred, that's brilliant, except for one glaring flaw."

"That being?"

"It requires that Dick go back to the Center. Then enough time has to pass for Batman to ostensibly collect everything, and there has to be time for me to 'hire' him before that. That's two nights at the absolute minimum, and frankly three or four would look a lot less suspicious. I'm not letting him go back there for that long, for _at all_. You saw how he was after four days the first time; how much will they be able to break him in three or four more? When we get him back, _if _your plan works, how damaged will he be, not just physically but emotionally? And that's assuming that they give him back as soon as they see the manuscript, which I kind of doubt they would. The authorized wheels of justice don't work that fast in this city, and you know it. It could be weeks before we can bring him back to where he belongs, and even if they aren't all spent in the Center, he's going to be traumatized."

"…Yes. I know. As I said, sir, it isn't my preferred option by any stretch of the imagination. But if they take him, it may be the last chance we are given to recover him."

"I know," Bruce slumped against the counter, his fingers pressed against his temples. "Why is this so damn _hard_, Alfred?"

"Caring for people dearly does that to you. But," the butler added quickly, "it is very much worth the blood, sweat, and tears. Try to just enjoy his company for tonight and the first part of tomorrow, hmm? It's the best we can do in a bad situation, I'm afraid." He paused. "Would you object tremendously to another waffle bar in the morning? He seemed to enjoy that a great deal, I'd like to put it out again for him."

"No," Bruce shook his head wearily. "I don't mind. That sounds pretty good to me, too." _Maybe I'll have him make mine,_ he considered. _What he suggested last time was probably the best waffle I've ever eaten. _

Unbeknownst to either of the men, Dick had come to a halt in the hallway just as the words 'waffle bar' were first breathed. His intent in coming towards the kitchen hadn't initially been to spy, but once he picked up on the mutual stress underlining the discussion taking place without him he couldn't help but want to know its source. Hovering just out of sight, he listened, hoping the topic of Zucco would come up. _I might have missed it. Maybe that's what they're upset about. Gosh, I hope they didn't already talk about it…_

He was lucky. As soon as his guardian approved of their breakfast menu, he countered the comment that had been made just before young ears tuned in. "…And that isn't _all_ we can do in a bad situation," floated out into the corridor.

"…Are you going to Newtown tonight, then, sir?"

"Yes. I want this over and done with, Alfred. I want that bastard behind bars for life, and I want it done tonight." _I know I told Dick that he could run the radio when I went after Zucco, but…I'd rather not dredge all of that up. Not tonight. Not when he's happy right now, and with tomorrow so uncertain…_

Outside, the boy's eyes widened. _Tonight. It's tonight. He's going in just a little while, probably right after he tucks me in. He said I could run the radio when he went after him, but I guess he forgot. That's okay; if I was doing that there'd be no way for me to sneak out._ _He's going in just a little while…no, __we're__ going in just a little while,_ he swore, slipping silently back towards the foyer and up the stairs before the adults could conclude their conversation and catch him eavesdropping. _You and me, Batman. Tonight, Zucco will be ours._


	73. Chapter 73

_…I think I tired you out, chum,_ Bruce smiled adoringly down at the face on the pillow a short while later. Dick had passed out less than ten minutes after they'd begun to read, leaving the billionaire torn between joy that the night no longer seemed to frighten him the way it had when he first arrived and sadness that what might be their last bedtime ritual had been cut shorter than usual. _That just means he'll be even better rested to deal with things tomorrow,_ he told himself firmly as he bent down to press a kiss against the boy's forehead. _Sweet dreams, baby. I'm going to get that fucker for you tonight, come hell or high water._

The child, still awake despite the act he'd pulled for his guardian, counted slowly backwards from thirty once he heard the door close. _Okay,_ he cracked his eyes open when he reached zero._ Time for super-sneaky Robin mode…_

His feet hit the rug, and he rose from the bed. Neglecting his slippers partially from fear of the extra noise they would make and partially because it would be one more thing he had to hide if he made it downstairs, he walked silently to the room's entrance. Gulping, he eased the portal open and passed into the hallway, keeping the knob turned until there was no danger of a loud _click_ giving away his position. _…Empty. Okay. Let's keep going, then._

There was a restrained rush to his progress as he drew near the top of the stairs. _I don't have much time,_ he fretted, peeking between the banister slats and down into the deserted entryway. _If Bruce went straight to change, I'm going to be cutting it close as it is…_ Nevertheless, getting caught in the wrong place by Alfred would be just as much of a game-ender as Batman leaving before he was in position. _He's probably just in the kitchen, but…what if he isn't?_ Gulping and crouching low, Dick hugged the wall as he descended. The steps were cold beneath his bare feet, and every time a tiny creak sounded he froze like a spotlighted deer, all big eyes and questing ears, before he continued. No one called out an inquiry, but that hardly eased his fear as he stepped down from the last riser and confronted the expanse of marble before him. _…Here goes nothing,_ he thought wincingly, and began to mince his way across as quickly as he could without running.

The plain of stone seemed eight times its usual size tonight, but he traversed it without incident, sagging slightly once he reached the beginning of the clock corridor. _Holy cow, this is hard,_ he deemed as he tip-toed to the hidden passageway. _I wish I knew for sure that Alfred isn't, like, coming up the cave steps right now._ Waiting to see would do him no good, however; not only would it give his ride a bigger window in which to leave without him, it would also increase the odds of the butler coming from some other direction and spotting him. _I have to keep going,_ he told himself grimly, stretching to his full height to push the hands into place. _Ten forty-eight. Okay. _He heard the minute sound of the latch releasing, and flinched. _That was a __good __noise. Gosh, I'm jumpy…I've got to calm down, I don't want to mess this up because of my nerves._ _I've just got to be careful, that's all… _

The clock was meticulously oiled for security purposes, and he swung it open with no real worry about it betraying him. Tugging it carefully shut behind him, he turned to face the long, gray stairs. _Nowhere to hide,_ he chewed at his lip. _Gotta be quick about this part, too._ Through what he was certain had to qualify as a miracle, he reached the bottom unopposed. _Now…where's Bruce?_ If the man had already changed and was back out in the cave, his plan was shot; Dick, however, being the curious child that he was, had a little insider information that he was hoping would work in his favor. As embarrassed as his guardian had looked when he'd been asked what he did about bathroom needs once he was ensconced in the complicated Batman suit, he'd given him an answer, and that was what he was counting on for tonight. _He said he always tries to…well, to empty out between dinner and getting dressed, unless he's in a hurry or it's an emergency,_ he recalled as he moved up the last few feet to poke his head around the corner. _I know he didn't do that yet tonight, because he's been with me the whole time since we ate. So if I'm lucky, he'll still be in the-oh, crap!_

For a moment he felt the hard rock of failure weigh down his stomach. _He's already done, _he sighed. _I don't know how I'll ever get past him now…wait,_ a frown turned down his lips. _He didn't have his cowl on. Actually…I didn't see his cape either._ He dared another peek, and this time when he pulled back he was grinning. _Nice. Not only is he not in his costume, he hasn't even gone into the bathroom yet, at least I don't think. This is perfect, so long as no one tries to use the stairs before I can get away from them and Alfred doesn't go up to check on me or something…_

Standing beside one of the racks that held spare pieces of his suit, Bruce was fingering bright, unfamiliar fabric and reflecting on the slight figure that had brought it to life less than an hour before. He'd only come over to grab a different cape than the one Alfred had laid out with the rest of his gear closer to the bathroom and showers, but as he'd searched for what he wanted he'd come across the flash of red, yellow and green and gotten distracted. _I suppose maybe not blending in could work for him, if it holds people's attention long enough for him to incapacitate them, _he mused. _Not that it matters at this point. Still…he operated surprisingly well with everything on when he demonstrated his routine last night. Usually it takes longer for people to get used to having extra material flapping around behind them. He said they worked with masks in the circus sometimes, though, so maybe they did cape work, too. _

_The way he seemed to just accept it, almost as an extension of his body…that was impressive, too. He might not be bad with a staff, or a pair of yantok…anything, really, that extends his reach. He's so little, even for his age…_ He shook his head. _What am I doing?! He doesn't need weapons, damn it…this is bad enough. _With a sigh, he released the child-sized costume, snagged a cape whose leather had been cured and coated especially to resist corrosive materials, and retreated from the main cave to prepare for the evening's hunt.

Dick stole a third look when he heard his guardian's long exhalation, just managing to catch sight of him as he vanished towards the bathroom. _This is it._ Lower lip held firmly between his teeth, he took one step out into the open, then a second. Nothing else moved, and after a disbelieving second he dashed to his costume and lifted it from the bar, hanger and all. A few moments later he was leaning against the back of the car, his heart racing as he groped along his miniature utility belt. _Still there,_ he slumped in relief as his fingers dipped into a pouch and found the mask and a bottle of spirit gum he'd secreted after he'd been left to change back into civilian clothes. _Awesome. Now, this will be the hard part…_

He had wrestled with how exactly he was supposed to get to Newtown in order to tackle Zucco, and only one viable option had occurred to him. _Can't take a cab; even if I put my costume in a bag and changed once I was there, Bruce has all of my money, Alfred would still have to let the car through the front gate, and what cab driver would take a kid somewhere without talking to an adult first? I don't know how to ride a motorcycle or drive a car, and even if I did I wouldn't know where I needed to go. I can't even try and find out on the computers, because I don't have the security passwords to log in. There probably isn't a Zeta tube in Newtown, and even if there is I don't know the coordinates and I don't know where it would drop me. Plus, I think that makes noise. Well…_ It had to be the Batmobile, he'd realized finally. _There's just no other way…_

The trunk lid popped up under his touch, and he went to work immediately undoing the latches that held several of the larger black boxes in place. _These things are heavier than I realized,_ he griped silently as one nearly escaped his grasp and clattered to the floor. _Good thing I only have to move a couple more to make enough room._ Casting constant glances towards the half-hidden changing area, he tucked three crates between the nearby Batcycle and the wall, trusting in the shadows and the fact that Bruce had no reason to be looking for anything odd over there to keep them invisible. Had he known for sure that the trip to the neighboring city was going to be tonight, he would have cleared his travel space during the same minutes that had let him hide his mask. Without the certainty his eavesdropping had lent him, though, it would have been too risky to leave an obvious gap of that nature in the supplies. Now there was no time to move them any further away from the car, a fact that was verified when the faint sound of a flushing toilet reached his ears.

It wouldn't take long for the man to change in spite of all the buckles and belts that his much heavier assemblage required, Dick knew. Hustling out of his pajamas and into his own costume, his eyes never strayed from the spot where the vigilante would have to emerge once he'd finished his preparations. Putting on his mask was too long of an operation for just then, he judged, and chucked his shed nightclothes into the small open space in the back of the car. Then, boggling that he'd made it as far as he had, he climbed in on top of them, curled everything except one arm up into an easy but painful-looking contortion, and pulled the lid of the trunk down on top of himself as quietly as he could manage without leaving it ajar.

The half-billionaire, half-Bat in the changing area paused as a faint _thwump_ sounded. _…What was that?_ he frowned, stepping out into the cave proper and glancing swiftly about. His eyes skipped over known objects – the file cabinets, the costume racks, the lab counter that had played host to his nitric acid comparison only a few nights before – without making a close examination of them, comfortable with their location and general shape in his mind. When the noise didn't repeat itself and he saw nothing of interest, he wrote it off. _Dick's asleep, and Alfred's still working on cookies in the kitchen,_ he reminded himself. _No one else can get in without being announced by the Zeta system, and it doesn't sound like that, anyway. What I heard was either extra power coming online so that the computers can back themselves up or a hallucination. Frankly, _he considered as he fastened his cape to the front of his chest plate, _I wouldn't be shocked if I __was__ hearing things. I'm under enough stress for that to happen even without Zucco thrown into the mix…_

Having calmed himself sufficiently, he strode over to where his cowl waited grimly on its stand. _…You have important work to do tonight,_ a steadily-deepening growl echoed through his brain as he stared into the mirror and lowered the headgear over his face. _…Do __not__ blow it. He's counting on you._ A pause. _I'm the only one who can do this, and it must be done._ With that, his gauntleted hands curled into fists, swinging at his sides as he stalked to the waiting vehicle. Safe in his own domain and with his full attention focused on Newtown, he didn't look anywhere but straightahead as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The floor began to turn beneath him, treating him to a view of the cave, but he had plucked the tablet out of the dashboard already and was busy setting the guidance system to take him straight back to the field he had parked in before.

As he prepared to set the device back in its cradle, he noticed that Randall's manuscript had been left minimized and brought it up to full screen in order to close it.

'_During my earliest encounters with him, RJG showed signs of belligerence and disrespect towards adults, and demonstrated a propensity for petty theft and lying,' _he made the mistake of reading. _ 'While a child brought up in a normal, healthy household might be cured of such behavioral defects through the proper administration of home remedies, RJG's background and the depth to which these traits run in him called for the full treatment, up to and including verbal and physical correction by his peers. This made him an excellent candidate for our program.'_

A snarl tore from the man's throat before he could get any further. _Zucco tonight,_ he swore, tossing the tablet onto the empty passenger seat as his foot punched down on the gas pedal, _but then you, Margine Randall. If you try and take my son from me tomorrow, I __will__ make you pay. That isn't just a promise; that's a guarantee._

**Author's Note: 'Yantok' are escrima sticks, for those who were wondering. Happy reading!**


	74. Chapter 74

In the back of the Batmobile, Dick waited for the torture to stop. His utter lack of control over or forewarning about which way his body would be shifted next had had his stomach turning almost before they made it out of the cave's twisting entrance tunnel, and the hilly roads that wound down to Gotham and points beyond weren't much better. Once they hit the highway asphalt, the ride smoothed just enough to let his mind switch its focus to how utterly pitch black it was inside the compartment. He knew it was just him and the supply crates in the small space, but that logic couldn't quite overcome millennia of biologically programmed fear of the dark, and he was left shivering and biting back moans of distress.

Only when he reflected on his reason for being where he was to begin with did he manage to keep his panic from mounting beyond a level he could manage. _I have to do this. I have to do this for mom, and dad, and for everyone else that that…jerk…might hurt if he stays free. I know Batman would probably be just fine without me – he's never had me before now, and he's always come out okay – but…Zucco killed Quindley, and we don't even know if he made Quindley talk before he died. What if they're expecting Batman to come? They could outnumber him, or have a trap set up, or…or so many things. _A hard, sudden lurch to one side yanked his attention back to the roiling protest being staged by his innards, and for the rest of the ride all he knew was a mixture of nausea and anticipatory fright.

In the driver's seat, the vigilante pushed the speedometer up to ninety, only backing off the gas when the next curve looked sharp enough to thwart even the Batmobile's road-clinging prowess. _This is far from an ideal situation,_ he contemplated grimly. _I have physical evidence, and Quindley's interview, but no real motive. My hoping that Zucco will start talking once he realizes he's done for is most likely a pipe dream; no one cold and clever enough to orchestrate things to the level that he has in Newtown is going to fold like a first-time shoplifter. What's more, if he knows that Quindley spoke with me he'll be on his guard. If I only had more time…_

He didn't, though, not if he wanted Zucco behind bars before the child he'd left slumbering peacefully at home faced the same fate. The best use of the few hours that were left, it seemed, would be to go straight to the factory and try to find the man there. _He seems too smart to actually hang around while illegal activity is taking place, but at the same time his handling of the other bosses makes him sound like a bit of a control freak. Does he have a second-in-command that he'd trust enough to watch a shipment go out for him, if there is one tonight? Quindley said that Ralph is a silent partner, so I doubt he'd put himself out there enough to be present for loading. _His lips turned down ferociously. _It's a toss-up. He's either there, or he's not, and there's no way of knowing in advance. This is going to have to be a stealth operation in any case. No kicking down doors, no knocking out goons unnecessarily. _Such stipulations took away from the fun, but he knew that the boy's face when he was told of the mission's success would more than make up for it.

Newtown appeared quiet as he skirted its edges. He turned off abruptly along an industrial access road and let the car trundle through dead, dry grass. Roughly halfway to the railroad tracks that separated the field from Zucco's plant, he shut the vehicle down entirely and rolled to a silent stop. _…Be here, you son of a bitch,_ he glared towards the distant fence that marked the edge of his destination. _Don't make me go searching for you. _Then, patting his belt to ensure that the pouches felt as they should, he stepped out into a light wind that bore the unmistakable tang of volatile chemicals and began to make his way across the open expanse.

Dick waited, miserable. _Go away, go __away__,_ he pled mentally as he felt the faint vibration of the engine cease. _I don't know how much longer I can stand this, but he can't catch me like this. It will be bad enough if he sees me once we're inside, but right now he could still turn around and take me back to the cave. Sure, I'd get to ride up front that way, but I wouldn't get to help with Zucco. _Trembling from nerves and an upset stomach, he counted slowly backwards from two hundred, trying to give the vigilante enough time to get away from the car while he struggled to hold down his gorge. _Three pretty elephants…two pretty elephants…oh, jeez, I'm totally going to puke…one pretty elephant!_

His fingers groped for the emergency release and yanked hard. Fresh air rushed in, and while that should have been a relief for his tortured equilibrium it only made things worse. He scrambled out of his hiding place, muscles protesting from having been locked in place for the duration of the drive, and dropped immediately to the ground, retching as quietly as he could manage. _Uuugh, gross. I hope I'm not getting any on me, Alfred will be really upset…well, I guess he's going to be really upset in any case. Still though, why add to it with throw-up?_

When he'd finished vomiting and the world had stopped spinning, he straightened his upper body, remaining on his knees and looking about as if he were a meerkat. _No one around,_ he took in his surroundings. _Good. Except…where did Batman go?_ The night was overcast, drained of virtually all light other than that reflecting off of the clouds from the city, and the man had utterly vanished into its dark embrace. _Crap! Well…the factory's over there. He must have gone towards that. So…I guess I'll just go that way and hope that I see him before he sees me._ _But first…_ Knowing better than to venture out without securing his mask, he swiftly glued it to his skin, swiping spirit gum over far more than just the corners. _I __don't__ want this to fall off,_ he thought, pressing it tightly against his face as he gained his feet. _Okay. _

Closing the trunk and brushing dirt and detritus from his knees, he pulled his cape around himself and began to walk towards the dully lit industrial complex that hunkered behind a high fence. _This breeze is kind of cold…and it reeks,_ his nose wrinkled. _Eww…I hope it isn't this bad inside, too. Yuck. _A flashback hit him suddenly, slowing his steps. _The last time I smelled that,_ he remembered, _I was with mom. Yeah. Pop Haly was driving his truck, and mom was in the passenger seat, and…and I was between them. And we smelled that same thing, and Pop said it was the factory, then rolled the windows up…but…but it didn't make a difference. It still got in, even though…even though he tried to keep it out._ He halted a short distance from the car, his face contorting with pain and anger. _…I hate you, Tony Zucco._

He tried to clear his mind as he continued to stomp across the field. _I've got to be sneaky again. Batman finding me here would be bad, but if Zucco catches me…_ He shuddered. _No. That would be really bad. Bruce would have a cow…he doesn't even know I'm out of bed. If Zucco gets me and…does something…what will Bruce think? Would he blame himself? He might, he's funny that way. I guess in a way it's __sort__ of his fault, since he wouldn't give me permission to help him, but…I don't want him to feel bad if something happens._ But he couldn't turn back, not now. Not when he'd come this far, and not when the man responsible for the worst moments of his life was about to face off with the man who had saved him in the aftermath. _I just have to not get caught,_ he determined, looking both ways before he scuttled across the railroad tracks. _That should be easy, right? I mean, how many people would he have in just one spot, anyway?_

The problem now was getting inside to find out. _That's a really tall fence, _he stared upwards. _How did Batman get over the barbed wire? Huh. Maybe…maybe he didn't go straight over?_ Peering down the line, he zeroed in on a lit area about an eighth of a mile away. _Maybe there's a door or something there, and that's how he went in. I wish I hadn't had to be sick, maybe I could have seen exactly where he went…_

As he approached, a train platform emerged from the darkness, a few faintly yellow bulbs splashing just enough brightness down to make the elevated space inhospitable to anyone trying to hide. There were doors, as he had hoped, but even from a distance they gave off an air of being extremely well locked. _I'll bet he used his grapple and went over the roof,_ the boy craned his neck to look. _I don't have one, though…why didn't I think to get some supplies from the trunk? That was really dumb…I guess I could go back, but by the time I'm here again Batman will probably be totally done with Zucco. _

Still, with no other discernible way inside it seemed that he would have to make a detour. Heaving a silent sigh, he turned to trudge back the way he'd come, and then froze. _Is that…? _A set of lights was moving steadily towards him, a low rumble rising in the earth as they grew nearer. _Train,_ his eyes widened. _And I think it's slowing down, too. I have to hide, I don't want anyone to see me… _

Short of trying to dash across the tracks to lie in the grass, the only good spot was in the corner where the fence met the platform. The shadows were deep there, and as he crouched down and wrapped his cape around himself he felt invisible. A sense of only just having avoided disaster flooded him as he heard one of the large metal slabs that had blocked his entrance to the facility a moment before swing open with a loud creak. Low voices echoed overhead as the freight train pulled up alongside the staging area, and less than a minute after he'd stood observing the empty space it was occupied by five people.

…_If they left the door open, I might be able to sneak in that way, _an idea occurred. He stood cautiously, keeping his dark cloak closed as he poked just the top of his head over the top. _They're stacking stuff up to be loaded. If I let them get a few more things out, maybe I can sort of move between the piles._ It took several minutes, but despite the speed at which the three men transferring the barrels from the platform into the cars moved, the two who were bringing out new pallets with forklifts were much faster. Stock began to backlog, and Robin saw his opportunity. _Now!_

He boosted himself over the edge and rolled until his shoulders were tight against a cool metal cylinder. _Whew. I don't think anyone saw me… _He waited for a cry to go up, but none did, the faint clangs and curses of heavy labor continuing without interruption. _Okay, now to just get inside…_ Keeping the edge of the raised concrete on his right, the boy dashed from one stack to the next, working his way towards the entrance. Every brief exposure left his heart racing, and when he was finally crouching behind his last bit of cover he took a moment to both let his pulse settle and to survey the area ahead.

…_It's wide open,_ his shoulders slumped. _The closest building is way over there…even with the shadows, how did Batman get there, or wherever he went, without being seen?_ Frowning mightily, he puzzled over the problem, watching the forklifts move back and forth between the second-furthest of four identical warehouses and just past where he stood. _I have to hurry. If they finish moving things out here they might close the gate again. But I don't know how to…_ His eyes fell on the back of one of the machines. _That__ might work,_ he realized, spotting a small tow bar projecting from the rear of the vehicle. _If I stand on that and sort of crouch, I can just get a ride across!_

The next time one rolled by he made his move, running out from his hiding place and leaping onto the narrow piece of metal. One hand clung on while the other kept his cape from fluttering out behind him in the hot exhaust being emitted from the grates he was pressed against. _Okay, everyone just…just look away. Look anywhere except the back of this forklift, just for a couple of minutes…_

He worried all the way down the line, but no alarm went up as he was carried into the third structure. Just past the doorway he leapt off, diving behind a stack of empty pallets and peeking through them as his conveyance moved to the very back of the enclosed space. _It looks like there are…two guys, maybe?_ he squinted. The light in here was much better than outside, but with only half of the overhead fluorescents turned on it was far from bright, making it difficult to tell at his distance. _Yeah. I think there are two. So…what now?_

His brain stuttered for a second. _Oh, crud, I don't know what to do,_ he realized. _I'm inside now, but I don't know where Batman is, and I sure as heck don't know where Zucco is. Um…huh. Well…what would he do? Batman?_ he tried. _What would he do…he wouldn't give up, I don't think. So…maybe he'd go listen to those men, and see if they said anything interesting? I could see him doing that, if he was the one standing here. What else __could__ he do? Running around this place looking for an office or something would take forever. I could move closer the same way I got to gate in the fence…_ He looked up, then grinned. _Or I could climb up into the rafters and be right over their heads. That's __way__ more fun._

Had he weighed a few extra pounds the pile he'd been hiding behind wouldn't have supported him. As it was, there was a dangerous sway beginning as he clambered onto the top and gazed towards the roof. _I think that's still a little out of my reach, but…I should be able to grab on if I jump._ He pushed off from a squatting position and leapt for the nearest support beam, stretching as hard as he could to get every possible inch out of his attempt. For an instant it looked as if he would fall short and tumble back down onto the rickety stack, knocking it over and hitting the hard floor surrounded by splintering wood and rusty nails. At the last second his fingertips found purchase, scrabbled, and let him drag himself to safety. He lay for the space of a few panted breaths, staring down at his makeshift launch pad as it slowly returned to stationary. _Whoa. That was close._

Now, though, he was in his element, above the ground and surrounded by a myriad of rods and bars. It was no challenge at all for his experienced feet to carry him along the building's support system until he was close enough to clearly hear the conversation taking place in the freshly emptied area below.

"Were you in on that Quindley stuff?" the first man asked, his voice ringing with a vague familiarity in the child's ears.

"No."

"Me, neither." He paused. "…You seem kind of out of it tonight."

"…Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About…it doesn't matter," the second shook his head.

"I asked, didn't I? C'mon, tell me already. You've been weird ever since the circus."

_The circus?!_ Robin's fingers tightened on the section of beam he held. _Oh, no…wait…the first guy sounds kind of like…but there's no way, is there?_

"I just don't get how killing a couple of people who didn't even know what was going on only to end up with fucking _Batman_ on the boss' trail was a good move, that's all."

"What, Nico," the first speaker said silkily as he jerked his head towards the barrels that surrounded them. "Are you _regretting_ putting this stuff on those wires?" 

_ …It __is__ them,_ the youth in the rafters felt his eyes narrow behind his mask. _I know it. Their voices…and what he just said…this is them. These are the men who threatened Pop Haly. These…these are the men who killed my parents._


	75. Chapter 75

Batman neither paused nor looked back once he'd left the car, intent on his mission. _If Zucco's taken security measures since Quindley's death, I'll come up against them regardless of whether I retrace my route from a few nights ago or try to find a new way in_, he logicked as he stalked across the field. A small amount of new growth cushioned his footfalls, making his passage slightly quieter than it had been before, and he met with no opposition. Lying on top of the platform roof mere minutes after he'd parked, he scanned the complex with his night vision binoculars and was not impressed. _Still no cameras, and the sentries are walking the same routes. If Quindley talked, Zucco's not doing anything about it. So is he clueless, cocky, or is this a trap?_

…_They __are__ preparing a shipment for tonight,_ he noted as he shifted his attention to the row of warehouses just a short distance beyond the gate. _The third one down is wide open…that's where the nitric was being kept_._ If they're moving that tonight, they might be adding last-minute markers to it. _Wanting to avoid having to fight in a room full of potentially open vats of acid, he surveyed the larger structures, hoping to see a light on in an office or something else that might suggest that his target wasn't down in the storage areas. _I should have explored more when I was here last,_ he grimaced, unable to tell what was what beyond the few bright windows. _If he isn't directly managing the loading, it's going to be a hell of a lot harder to find him, especially if I want to avoid giving my presence away with a trail of unconscious men._

Back on the ground, he slipped through the same dark patches as before, timing the guards as they made their rounds. Rather than going inside the first outbuilding again, he made his way to the top of it, then leapt across the narrow breezeway that separated it from its neighbor. When he reached the third roof, he paused to examine its surface, looking for a way in. _Maintenance access,_ he spied a trapdoor on the far side. _That will suffice._

It was an old hatch-style opening, he discovered to his dismay as he crawled up to it. Having never encountered one that didn't squeak or groan when it was opened, he hesitated. _If this is what they're moving, there are probably lackeys below getting ready to shift product out to the loading dock. The last thing I want to do is alert them all to my presence. I need a sound screen…_

As if in answer to his thought, a low chugging rose from the east and grew steadily louder. Below him, double steady beeps suggested two pieces of heavy equipment backing up simultaneously, and a moment later he watched as a pair of forklifts bearing a full pallet of barrels and an extra man each made their way towards the gate he'd snuck over. _Noise __and__ fewer people,_ a smirk slipped across his lips for an instant. _Convenient._

The train's brakes squealed slightly as it pulled to a stop at the station, covering his rapid unscrewing of the service door. He was about to slip inside when a fifth man exited the warehouse at a jog, only turning back to answer a question that was hollered after him.

"Hey Garrison, is the boss man coming down for this one?" echoed up to his ears.

"Nah, he's over in the plant. Said something about consolidation of power, I dunno. Left me in charge tonight."

"Heh. Dubious honor. Don't screw it up."

"Shit, no. I like breathing."

_The plant,_ the cowl swiveled immediately to face the largest of the complex's buildings. Lights atop three tall smokestacks blinked redly, shining a warning to low-flying aircraft. _So you're hiding, but not too far away from where all the profit's being made. 'Consolidation of power'…planning to take out the other three you've let live so far, or are you too busy absorbing Quindley's zone to chance that right now?_ _It's only a matter of time, they must all know that – especially now – but why bring everything under your direct control if you've essentially got the established men acting as your lieutenants? _

It was a question that only the fertilizer man himself could answer. Letting the hatch fall back into place silently, he left the screw-top open, unsure if he would need access later in the night and unwilling to count on another train showing up right when he needed it to. _Hell, at this rate I'll be home at a decent hour. The plant's big, but it's nothing compared with searching the entire place for him. _Jumping to the fourth and final warehouse in the row, he picked out the path to his destination. _There have to be doors leading down from the roof in a building of that size,_ he decided, freeing his grapple from his belt once more. _I think the closer chimney is just within range…_

He fired, and was pleased when the hook made contact with a few feet of line to spare. _Secure,_ he tugged on it to be sure. _Good. _With that, he leapt, confident that he had plenty of leeway to swing with his anchor situated near the top of the vertical structure. Depressing the trigger again as he flew through the air signaled the pulley inside the tool to begin reeling, increasing his altitude as he approached the high walls of the main assembly area. He landed flawlessly atop the plant, retracted his line, and ducked down before anyone on the ground had a chance to so much as glance skyward.

As he'd expected, a door presented itself almost immediately. With no reason to think that it was any better or worse of a choice than others that he might find further along, he picked the lock and slipped inside. From there he descended one floor at a time, a hand on the pouch containing his batarangs lest he meet some hapless worker along the way. _Is anyone besides the loading crew even working? _he frowned as he reached the ground level without encountering anyone. _Quindley said that Zucco brought in his own henchmen for the night shift, but there must be more than just the few I saw and the guards. I suppose he might give them shipment nights off in order to keep the number of people who know what goes on to a minimum, but how would he justify that? His exports can't be that regularly timed…this is odd._

A warren of hallways, their tired linoleum worn thin by decades of safety-booted tread, greeted him when he stepped out of the stairwell. There was no sound of machinery whatsoever, and that by itself answered his question as to whether or not anything was being produced at the moment. _No. This is wrong. He __is__ expecting me. But why make it so easy? A false sense of security only goes so far, Zucco. You're good, I'll give you that, but evidently that particular lesson isn't one that's sunken in yet._

Less than two minutes of wandering led him to a sign that pointed the way to the administrative offices. He grew more cautious, glancing around corners before he rounded them, a batarang now held loosely in his hand so that his first strike wouldn't be delayed by even a millisecond were he to be attacked. Up ahead, a single open doorway cast light into the half-lit corridor. _This is obviously a trap,_ he grimaced. _I don't like it._ But he could hardly retreat now, not when there was a very real possibility that the man he'd come here for was sitting comfortably a few dozen feet away and quite likely plotting the deaths of more innocent people. _…Based on his penchant for chemicals and the way I'm being led into what's probably a small room, my guess is that he's planning some sort of a gas attack._ He touched the compartment holding his compact rebreather, assuring himself of its availability. _Fine. We'll do it your way, then, and I'll __still__ win._

The partially bald, paunchy man whose picture was featured on the factory's website didn't look surprised in the least when he raised his head to find Batman blocking the doorway. "Well, you actually came," he said by way of greeting, lifting his arms in a welcoming gesture. "I wondered how long it would take you. I imagine working two cities must be hard; I'd have given you more time before I gave up on you."

"Zucco," the vigilante's voice grated as the remembered vision of the person before him dribbling caustic liquid onto his child's writhing, screaming form assaulted the backs of his eyes. "You know why I'm here."

"I do," the crime lord nodded. "…And I don't. Are you here about the chemicals, Batman, or about the circus? The chemicals seem more in scale for what you usually deal with, at least from what little I've read since you became something I needed to know about, but I've never operated in your territory, except," he admitted, "for that whole Haly's incident."

"You were over the municipal line."

"I know. I _didn't_ know at the time, of course, but…it was an accident, pure and simple."

"It was murder."

"Hey, I made that man a _very_ generous offer, and he refused. It wouldn't even have been difficult, but _he_ made it bad. And now _I'm_ paying the price. Isn't that nice? Fucking leeches, all of them."

_Watch your language, you son of a bitch,_ he bit back, unwilling to listen to unkind and untrue words about the troupe, especially from this man. "What was the offer?" he asked instead.

"…I'm not an idiot, Batman. I know you don't know why I was even interested in a traveling circus; Quindley told me that much. He was tough, I'll give him that, but he was also old. The old are meant to die, just like children whose parents fail to protect them and who are too weak to protect themselves."

"If you believe that, then why haven't you gone after the Grayson boy?"

"…Who says I haven't?"

_What?! _"…Explain," he ordered in a gravelly tone that carried none of the rage and terror that were boiling in his chest.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"_Explain."_

"Or what?" His face clouding with derision, Zucco stood and leaned forward, his bent knuckles pressing against the top of the desk as his gut shifted papers. "What are you going to do? This isn't your town, it's _mine_. Besides that, you can't prove anything. All you have is what Quindley told you, and the words of a dead man are practically useless in a court of law, especially if you can't prove that he wasn't coerced. I know you don't kill, and you don't seem to purposefully maim, either, so what's the _worst_ thing you can do to me? Beat me up? They'll send _you_ to jail for that, not me. You can't make the Grayson thing stick. Give it up."

"…The nitric acid in your warehouses matches the traces I found on the trapeze wires, right down to the marker chemicals you use to delineate your product from your competitors."

The man's face froze for a second, and Batman knew he'd scored a hit. "What are you talking about?"

_So Quindley told you that I was poking around, but you didn't notice that I'd been here for samples. Interesting. _"The acid that killed John and Mary Grayson was Zucco Brand contraband."

"…Bullshit."

"Try me."

Zucco watched his cowled visitor for a long moment, his mind working overtime. _If he really has the marker makeup, the Feds won't need anyone to roll in order to make charges of supplying terrorist organizations stick,_ he knew._ They'll just trace it all in the lab. The FBI, Interpol...they'll come into play. I have no fucking clue what my clients use my stuff for; even if I asked, they'd never tell me. It's a cop question, no good for business. God fucking damn it, twenty years…twenty years I've been doing this, and so many people have tried to close the coffin lid on me. Two decades, and some prick in a Halloween costume is the first one to actually have a shot of pinning it on me? No. No, I'm not going out like this._ "Fuck you," he spat, then turned and threw himself out the open window.

_There's not a chance of you getting away, Zucco. I want you, and I want to know what you meant just now about having tried to go after Dick. But if you want to play rough, we'll play rough,_ Batman promised as he vaulted the desk and gave chase. _Fast bastard, given the shape he looks to be in,_ he cursed outside a second later as the fertilizer man vanished around a corner. _Home turf advantage,_ was added with a grimace as he raced to catch up. _He knows where to go; I don't. But that's only an advantage, not a guaranteed strategy…__shit__. _

He came around a second bend just in time to see the crime lord hustling towards the open entrance to the third warehouse, the very building that he had so studiously been trying to avoid confronting anyone in. _I'm going to have to fight a lot more men if I take him down in the open, but I'd rather deal with them out here than in a nitric bath._ Just as a shout of greeting came from someone inside, the vigilante threw a Batarang at the back of his quarry's head. The criminal went down hard, hitting the ground in a meaty slide reminiscent of a charging rhinoceros succumbing to gravity. The call from the invisible goon beyond the doorway cut off, and for a moment the only sound was the soprano soliloquy of one of the forklifts moving in reverse out on the platform. Black boots ground to a stop just short of the unconscious figure, a sneer twisting their owner's lips.

_Endgame, Zucco. You're mine._

**Author's Note: Batman might be confident that Zucco's down, but that doesn't mean that he SHOULD be...**

**Also, thanks so much to everyone who has come this far, and especially to those of you who have helped push this story to 1000 reviews. Your support is greatly appreciated! Happy reading!**


	76. Chapter 76

Every corner of Robin's soul ached as he hovered in the darkness over the two men who had just outed themselves as the extortionists of Haly's Circus. He could visualize his attack perfectly in his mind. He would drop onto the taller one first, kicking out against his shoulders with both feet, and the falling man – he would have to fall, the boy was certain, between the sudden addition of fifty-five moving pounds to his own weight and the sheer surprise of the attack – would act as his springboard, allowing him to launch sideways into the other goon. If he did it right, he could leave both of them in enough pain to give himself time to figure out how to tie them up for Batman and the police.

The problem was that he wasn't a violent person by either nature or training, and regardless of how many times he struck a punching bag he had never delivered a purposeful blow to another living, breathing human being before. For all that a heady mixture of revenge-tinged justice dealing was pounding in his veins, his muscles were frozen. _I don't want to hurt either of them, at least not, like, forever,_ he fretted. _What if I land wrong? I might break the tall guy's neck, or give him a bad concussion. And the second guy, what if he runs into one of these barrels? I don't know what's inside, it could be dangerous for him to touch. They should be in jail, I know they should, but…oh, crud. Why can't I move? I __want__ to take them down,_ his foot slid infinitesimally forward on the narrow beam, _but I just…can't make my body listen. How am I ever going to help Batman if I can't move when there's an enemy right below me? I'm not afraid, I don't think, so what's going __on__?! _

He might have stayed in the rafters all night, torn between his ardent desire to deliver his targets to their deserved fates in prison and the strange paralysis that had overtaken him, had rapid footsteps not suddenly approached outside. "…D'you hear that?" the guilt-wracked henchman turned a quizzical eye to his cohort. "Who the hell's running?"

"I don't…oh, hey, boss!" The man whose voice the boy had first thought was familiar raised his volume suddenly, waving at the figure that came into view in the broad doorway. "It's the boss," he said needlessly.

_Zucco,_ Robin's mouth formed the criminal's name soundlessly. _You're here. All three of you are here, Batman's missing, and I'm…I'm useless. No, no, I __have__ to get you! I just have to-_

"We wondered if you were going to come do-"

The lackey's comment and the child's thought broke off in the same moment as something flew from out of sight and struck the crime lord in the back of the head. The scrape of gravel grinding across concrete and into flesh was audible even at their distance as the heavy form hit the ground, and all three winced. No one spoke for a second, unsure as to what exactly had happened and waiting to see if the fertilizer man would rise. The spell was broken only when a pointy-eared silhouette stepped forward, glanced at the downed figure, and then turned to face them.

"…He's here!" one of the goons shouted in panic.

_He's here!_ the boy cheered. His gaze transferred from the black-clad man now stalking across the warehouse back to the pair below, who were fumbling at their belts. _You guys are so… _He trailed off, his triumph twisting into terror as two pistols were trained on the approaching Bat. Mere feet overhead, Robin could see the flex of tendons along their wrists as their trigger fingers tightened. _Not again. Not again. I don't want to be alone again!_ he shrieked mentally. "Batman, watch out!" he screamed, certain that the man couldn't possibly see the weapons from his distance and in the semi-dark. The echo of his warning was chased immediately by double _booms_ that made his ears ring, and the invisible casts that had held his limbs immobile shattered. He plunged downward with a wildcat mewl that relayed all of the pain and loss he'd experienced in the past three weeks, moving too quickly in his determination to protect his guardian to see him duck to safety.

The vigilante, experienced in reading vague body motions, knew that Zucco's workers were about to draw guns almost before they reached for their waists. Just as he threw himself to one side, someone cried out his name. Had he not already been in motion, he would have stilled upon hearing that horribly familiar voice, and thus potentially have sealed his fate. His body completed the maneuver it had already initiated, however, and as he dropped down behind the nearest group of barrels he recovered enough to glance into the rafters. A red-green-yellow blur fell from the darkness, confirming his worst fears, and initiated a fray. _Robin__,_ he gasped._ They'll kill him, _came an instant later. _No._

He experienced no conscious thought for some fifteen seconds after that, his mind too flooded with desperation and rage for rationality to gain an edge. Stepping up onto the nearest container, he fired his grapple into the roof supports and swung towards the two confused men and one heartbroken little boy who were waging war several dozen yards away. The tall one had gone down when he was landed on, his pistol skittering away between the rows of nitric acid, but the other, Batman saw, was still armed. Just as he brought his weapon around to bear on the youth, large steel-toed boots connected viciously with his side, sending him flying backwards with a choked cry.

Landing atop another container, the cowled figure turned. He was prepared to swoop in again, but it wasn't necessary. The flattened goon got to his knees and struck out at the slight figure who had just risen from a landing crouch, but the blow was blocked. _I taught him that,_ the watching man thought with a hint of pride. _And that,_ he added as a second punch was thrown and summarily deflected. Worried that an attempt would connect and leave a mark that would have to be accounted for the next day, he stepped down from his perch, approached the distracted man from behind, and jabbed two fingers into a spot between his spine and his jugular. The combatant's hands went limp, a squeak escaped his throat, and he slumped forward, forcing his opponent to dance out of the way.

"…Robin." The name came out in an uncharacteristic whisper, the eyes behind the cowl's lenses wide and damp. _Goddamn it, you could have been killed. You did well, considering, but…you shouldn't be here. Not without training, and not with Zucco._

"_Batman_." There were suddenly arms clasped tightly just above his utility belt, and the man grimaced in understanding. _He thought I'd been shot,_ he realized. _If he believed that he'd just seen me killed…his nightmares will be bad tonight. _Gauntleted fingers trailed through dark hair for the barest instant before dropping to a narrow shoulder and pushing the boy out to arm's length. _How did you get here?_ he wanted to know. _Why did you come, when I told you that you are __not__ to be in the field?_ Lights came up outside as someone tried to push back the shadows and give themselves an edge. _We don't have time for questions. Not now. Later…assuming, of course, that we get out of here alive._

"…There will be others coming, from the gunshots," he explained, leaving his hand in place in the hope that physical contact might still the trembling lips above the pointed little chin. "Do _not_ engage them. I'll deal with it." Pulling two sets of zipties from his belt, he held them out. "I need you to secure this man, and the other one as well. He fell back into the barrels; if you see any liquid other than blood, do _not_ let it touch you. Do you understand?"

"But…these two, they said-"

"_Robin," _he shook him slightly. "_Do you understand_?"

"…Yes, Batman," came hoarsely, the plastic restraints passing from one gloved palm to another as he cut off his story. "I'll d-do what you said."

"Good. When you're done, stand right here," he jabbed a finger towards the ground beneath them, "and wait for me. If someone comes towards you, _run_." His grip tightened gently. "…If that happens, I'll find you."

A tiny smile spread across the boy's face. "S-sure you will. I mean…you did before, and…and tonight."

_Smiling in the middle of this shit, with the man who killed your parents lying unconscious in the doorway. You are unbelievable, Richard Grayson._ "…Go now," was all he said, releasing him and turning away. Nothing moved at his back for a second, and then he heard the unmistakably sound of the first cuff being tightened. _Bind that one extra tight,_ his teeth shone in a momentary snarl. _It will help me feel better about not having broken his arms for so much as thinking about trying to hurt you._

Back at the doorway, he glanced down at his primary target, an unusual urge to spit on the man overtaking him. _No. I don't want to leave DNA if I can avoid it, _he restrained himself. A few shouts from just outside alerted him to the approach of backup, and he swiveled to plaster himself against the inside of the wall. _I'm waiting,_ he thought impatiently when the noise ceased. _It's already past Robin's bedtime. I don't have all night._

A gun-wielding hand appeared slowly around the corner, and a moment later its owner was delivered to the same unconscious state as his co-workers. The next four came in a pack, his dance with them drawing him back outside as he tried to keep their bullets from ricocheting into either dangerous chemicals or the youth waiting in the background. _He'd __better__ be waiting, at least,_ the vigilante growled mentally as he snapped someone's elbow and dropped them to the pavement. _He's in enough trouble when we get home…_

The few sentries that had been scattered around the facility made their way to him in ones and two, and were summarily rendered insensate. A lull came when eleven men lay on the ground around the vigilante, and he began to back towards the warehouse entrance. Before he could duck inside, though, a final trio rounded the corner, two men with sub-machine guns flanking what was clearly the other half of the illicit partnership ruling Newtown. "Ralph Zucco," Batman sneered, halting his retrograde movement. _You might be the silent one, but you're still a part of this. _

Ralph possessed a caution that his brother did not, and as he stood between the guards and observed the ruin of his night crew he calculated his best bet. "…Get him!" he ordered sharply, then took off at a dead sprint for the abandoned platform, intent on getting the train, whatever product had been loaded onto it, and himself rolling away from the impending disaster for his family name.

Cursing silently, the cowled figure dropped a smoke bomb with one hand and threw a batarang with the other, simultaneously giving himself cover while incapacitating one of the shooters. The screen let him ride safely to the top of the building just as the firing that had begun on Zucco's order paused, but after that the wind worked against him. _Damn. Now the smoke's blocking my view of the other one,_ he grumbled from where he stood with another distance weapon at the ready. _Son of a bitch, don't you __dare__ go in there,_ he swore a moment later when the man made a dash for the warehouse entrance. With that he struck, his last target of the night falling as readily under a blow to the head as his first had. _There. Now for Ralph…_

But it was too late, a low whistle announced as the locomotive pulled away. A heavy-sounding door slammed shut on the other side of the fence, and the last glimpse Batman got of the second Zucco came as the man was carried past, clinging to the grab bar between two cars and glaring at everything in his line of sight. Their gazes locked for a moment, but the vigilante could do nothing. _Even if I could get around the fence in time to catch up, I can't leave Robin behind. The authorities will have to catch up with Ralph…but I have the important one._ He watched until the train was too far away for any weapon the escaped crook might have been carrying to be a likely threat, then headed back inside to fetch the boy. Reaching the doorway, however, he stopped. _…No._

"…Batman?" his name was called, the boy seeming to read his disconcertion as he stared at the concrete.

"…Robin," he answered, raising his head and pointing at the empty spot where the knocked-out figure of Tony Zucco had been laying only minutes before. He saw the child go still as he figured out what was being indicated by his finger, and then witnessed his head shake. _Where did he go? I don't know. This is __not__ good…_ Stepping inside, he groped along the wall, flipping the second half of the fluorescents on when he found the light switches.

In the sudden brightness, he saw too much. The missing murderer, standing behind his oblivious son; the tilted barrel of what he had no doubt was pure nitric acid, its lid removed, its contents rolling towards the open air; the crazed smirk above the hands that were aiming the corrosive for the only other person within range. In Batman's mind, young skin blistered and bled, pleading eyes jellied and sank, a fragile, precious internal rhythm stopped…and he himself killed, one, two, three, a dozen people, every man he could get his hands on with ties to Zucco. His fingers closed around another batarang, but he already knew it was too late. "…Robin!" he screamed, using not his voice but the universal tone that had torn from the throats of terrified fathers since the dawn of man. "_Move, now!"_


	77. Chapter 77

Robin stared at the patch of concrete indicated by his guardian for a long, disbelieving second. _Oh, no,_ he gasped. _Zucco…where did he go? _Looking up, he shook his head. _I don't know, Batman, I'm sorry…I got distracted tying up the two down here, I didn't even think it was possible that he'd get up. I mean, he hit the ground so hard, I thought…crap!_ He glanced to either side of himself, seeing nothing, then reached for his eyes as the lights buzzed to life overhead. _Ow, that's bright after so long in the sort-of dark…_

"Robin! Move, _now!_" was suddenly shouted at him. The desperation in the words triggered some primordial survival mechanism in the basest part of his brain, and before he could fully process what had been said he had leapt forward into a series of handsprings. Uncertain as to what exactly he was running from but not having heard any gunshots, he jumped onto a nearby barrel, keeping low purely on instinct as he turned back to face the direction he'd come.

_Zucco!_ he exclaimed mentally, eyes widening as he saw what the criminal had done. A container, pushed over in a fit of rage, lay on its side just short of where he'd stood a moment before, its contents gushing out over the floor. A thick, acrid smell filled his nose suddenly, making his lungs burn. He stumbled backwards, trying to get away both from the man who had released the corrosive substance and from the bad air. _Ow, ow, craaap that huuuurts,_ he whined mentally, beginning to cough as his body rejected the poison it had pulled in.

The fertilizer man seemed to realize his mistake immediately. Just as affected by the fumes as his intended target was and, more importantly, seeing the snarl of rage on the face of the cowled man who was suddenly flying in his direction, he turned tail and fled, heading for a distant rear exit.

Batman, focused on getting the boy out of danger, let him go for the moment. Before his warning had finished exiting his mouth, he had dropped his projectile back into its pouch and reached for his grapple gun instead. Now, swinging across the open floor between the door and the rapidly spreading acid, he snatched up the brightly-clad child, reversed his direction, and returned them to fresh air. A moment later metal slammed on metal, letting the chemicals dealer out on the other side of the building. He glanced after him, then concentrated on the coughing figure in his arms. "Robin," he tried to get his attention. "Just breathe. Slow and easy." _Just breathe, you have to breathe…_

"_Hurts."_ While his nose and throat already felt better in the less-tainted breeze outside, his chest was still complaining mightily, heaving as he tried to clear out gases that had no place inside the human body.

"Slow and easy," the vigilante advised again, propping him against the wall so he could see him better. _…He's all right,_ he tried to calm himself. _The concentration can't have gotten very high in such a short amount of time, and if any of the acid had touched him he'd be screaming. _Despite his certainty, he could feel his skin twitching beneath his armor, what he'd witnessed too closely approximating his dream for comfort. _Still…he shouldn't be here, especially not after that. But I can't just let Zucco escape while I take him home, either. Calling the police would net the unconscious men, but not the one I actually want. This is an impossible decision, especially given what that bastard said about having already made a stab at him once. I have no idea how badly the gas affected him, if at all, and he knows this place. He could easily circle back around while I'm looking for him and finish off the boy. _"Robin," he gripped his shoulder as his hacking eased somewhat. "I'm taking you back to the car." _I can leave him there, set the doors to stay locked so that he can't follow me, and then come back. He'll be safe in the car._

"No!" came an immediate protest. "I'm already here, and he'll escape if you do that! I…I'll tie up these bad guys while you go after him!" He paused, his eyes widening as he remembered something. "Batman…the bad guys…the two inside!" he whispered urgently.

_Are probably already dead, or as good as,_ the vigilante grimaced. _But that doesn't mean that I can leave them._ "Stay right here, and just _breathe,_" he commanded. "I'll get them out."

"But-" he broke off with another hard bark that clearly caused him pain, "the air's bad, you'll get hurt!"

"No," the vigilante pulled out his rebreather, "I won't. Stay here, and call for me if you see anyone. _Anyone_, Robin."

"…Okay." Once his guardian had vanished, he sighed. _I feel a lot better now, but…what are we going to do? Zucco's getting away…he __can't__. He can't escape, we were __so close__…_

Batman reappeared with the taller lackey over one shoulder, leaned him against the wall on the opposite side of the doorway, and went back for the second. Stripping off his respiratory aid and resecuring it in his belt, he knelt back beside the boy. "Well?"

"…Will they be okay?"

He didn't answer for a moment, both pleased and confused by the child's concern. "The acid doesn't seem to have met enough of a good catalyst to cause a strong atmospheric concentration of toxic gases," came out finally. "They'll need medical care, but they should survive without too many complications. What I meant," he shifted, "was how are _you_?"

"…It still kind of hurts," he confessed. "And I have a headache. It's not, like, awful or anything, but…it isn't nice, either."

…_Considering how much worse it could be, I'll take that._ "Good. Now, I'm taking you back to the car."

"No!" _…Wait, did I just backtalk Batman?_ He had, he knew, and yet he wasn't concerned by it. A tiny shift in his personality had taken place when he'd realized what Zucco had tried to do, and the determination he'd felt previously to not only attain justice for his parents but also to prevent further crimes from hurting other innocent people locked into place. What had been hard to move before was now in danger of becoming a permanent fixture of his character, and he was okay with that. _I'm going to be in even worse trouble now, I think, but…it's worth it._

"…What?" a more-or-less full-on Batglare was leveled at the youth. _I have watched you nearly be killed at least three times in the last ten minutes. You were told not to take your mask or your costume out into the field, yet you disobeyed. More than that, you snuck out. If you got here in the Batmobile – and you must have, because there's no other way you could possibly have managed to arrive as quickly as I did – then you also betrayed the trust I gave you when I allowed you access to the car. Now, having just finished all but coughing up a lung, you have the gall to protest when I try and take you to safety?_

Robin cringed, not needing to see through the cowl's lenses to feel the anger in the gaze behind it. "I'm sorry," he started slowly, feeling each word wilt as it left his lips, "but…he'll get away if we do that. We _have_ to catch him, Batman. Please."

"…I can find him again," the man ground out, less than pleased with the idea but resigned to it. _If I had taken just a few more seconds with the light, you'd be…you shouldn't be here. It's too risky. He'll obviously do anything, if he'll push a barrel of acid over onto a child. _His toes curled with ire. _When I find him, I will make him regret the day he was born. But you won't be with me for that. _

"That doesn't matter. _I_ have to be part of it, or it…it won't count. Batman…" _This is too much Bruce stuff for me to say where someone else could hear,_ _but more importantly, he can't give me that nasty look if I'm not in his line of sight._ Rolling forward onto his knees, he scooted close and all but breathed against his ear. "…What if he was the man who killed _your_ parents? Would…would you just let someone else catch him, and then be okay again? 'Cause I don't think I can do that." Then he laid his pounding forehead against a shoulder plate and sniffled, working to counteract the way his mucous membranes were working overtime following his exposure.

_Oh. …No. No, I don't suppose you __could__ do that. I should have seen this coming,_ he berated himself, this thinking shifting slightly under the new perspective that the boy had offered him. _I should have known you'd come out after him. I should have known, because it's exactly what I would do in the same situation. You deserve very much to be in the field, Robin, you have a raw talent for so many of the thing I do, it seems…but tonight was the worst possible night for you to make your debut. I don't know how you knew that tonight was the night, but __I__ knew, and I should have had Alfred checking your room every five minutes. I should have hidden your costume. I should have offered to let you run the radio. I should have…I should have put myself in your shoes before we ever got this far, and seen what was coming. God damn me for being so blind._

_Take him home,_ Bruce begged. _Take him to the car, at least, right now. Save him._

_I __can't__, weren't you listening?_ Batman hissed back, one gloved hand rising to gently pry the child up and away. _…I can't. He has to save himself._

_He nearly died in there!_

_Part of him definitely __will__ die if we try and shut him out of this any further. Something important, I think. Maybe even the very thing that drew you to him to begin with._

Bruce faltered at that. _It's too dangerous,_ he gave one last attempt._ There's court tomorrow, for Christ sake…_

_Yes. There is. And if you take him before a judge with an obviously crushed spirit, a lack of bruising isn't going to matter in the least._

"…Batman?"

The glare faded away, and for a moment the only motion between them was that of the black-clad figure as he straightened out the twisted bumblebee cape. _…I loathe this,_ he lamented, _but which risk is the less tolerable one? If I were him…if I were him, I know which fate I would choose._

_He's __not__ you! That's the entire point! _Bruce sobbed.

_Stop worrying. He'll never be me. He's too good for that._ "…If you mean what you just said, Robin," he rose, averting his face from the pout-ready lips that were already aimed at him, "then follow me. But," he added fiercely, swiveling his head back to issue an order, "you will do _exactly_ what I tell you from here on out, or I will take you back to the car _immediately_. Is that understood?"

The boy was beaming. "Yes, Batman. I understand. Now can we please go get him?"

_Eager little whelp,_ the vigilante mused. Had the situation been less dire, he might have allowed a faint smirk to slip across his mouth; as things were, however, he took note of the child's enthusiasm dourly. _…Don't you dare make me regret this._ "Keep close, keep quiet, and keep watch," he warned, then stalked towards the corner of the building. _We'll check the door he left through first. With the gut he's carrying, maybe we'll get lucky and the fumes will have affected him worse than they did Robin…_

Scanning the dusky rooftops and windows for silhouettes, they made their way around to the back of the warehouse, where they found nothing. Crooking a finger at the figure following right on his heels, Batman crouched down. "He's either run, or he's lurking. My bet is on the latter; if he flees and we can prove that his specific nitric was what burned through the trapeze wires – which we can – then he'll be a fugitive for the rest of his life." _…I hadn't told you about the acid comparison yet,_ he grimaced, catching his slip of the tongue as soon as it occurred. _Damn._

"It's okay," the child said gravely, reading his expression. "I…I already knew about the acid. I read the file while…while you were out on patrol the other night." He blushed, two bright roses of color rising to the surface of the skin just below the edge of his mask. "I couldn't help it."

_Strong capillary reaction, and healthy color,_ the cowled man thought with a trace of relief as he spotted the embarrassed reaction. _He must have just gotten enough of a whiff to irritate everything for a few minutes. Good, that means I don't have to worry as much about edema or half a dozen other post-exposure complications._ "We'll discuss that later. For now, what matters is that his best bet for saving himself and his business with minimal complications is to have both you and I dead before daylight. You need to understand that; this man will not hesitate to kill you."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out when he tried just a few minutes ago," Robin muttered, crossing his arms. _First you kept stuff from me, and then you didn't even offer to let me run the radio tonight, and just a minute ago you tried to send me back to the car. Now you're acting like I'm a baby who needs everything spelled out for them. Of course he's trying to kill us! _A second after his outburst, he sighed contritely. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, but…I'm also not an idiot. Okay?"

The comment was so unexpected that Batman blinked, a bit taken aback. "You're right," he admitted finally. "You aren't." _Of course you aren't, I just…didn't expect you to be so blunt about that fact. _A beat more passed. "…We're going to go check the plant now. Stay close and be careful."

They went in via Zucco's office window. Entering first, the cowled man turned to help the child inside only to find that he'd vaulted over the sill easily. "…I'm fine," was whispered. _I can do this,_ he added silently. "Let's go."

…_Well, then. Let's go, indeed._ Winding through the administrative wing, they eliminated room after room. _This is absurd. If he __did__ run, he's halfway to the state line by now. If he didn't, we'll be here all night looking for him. _Had he not been certain that Zucco _wanted_ to be found, if only to spring a trap, he would have thought their task insurmountable. _He's useless to me if I can't find him, and even if there wasn't a court date tomorrow I wouldn't dare try to leave and come back another night, either with or without Robin. Not after what he implied about him. I can't take the chance of a daylight strike on the Manor by this man. It was already so close to the dream earlier tonight…_

The huge production floor came into view, and Batman stopped. _…This feels right. He's out here somewhere, hiding. Waiting._ Waving the boy forward to his side, he leaned over to issue his orders. "The ceiling in here is like the one in the warehouse," he shared. "Go left around the corner in front of us and find a ladder. I want you to climb up into the rafters – carefully, don't make yourself obvious – and sneak along above me. Don't give away your position; you're my secret weapon." _Your safety is, at least. So long as you're safe and you feel like you were a help, my mission will have been accomplished for another night. _He hesitated, then dipped his hand into one of the pouches at his waist. "…Take this with you."

"…You're giving me a batarang?!" came back excitedly.

"Just for right now, and only for self-defense. Do_ not_ throw it unless you absolutely have to, understood?"

"Right. Then I'd be unarmed." _My very own batarang_, he squeaked to himself. _Just like Batman._

"…Right. Put it in your belt until you need it."

"Gotcha," he obeyed immediately. "So…how will you know when I'm ready?"

The lips beneath the cowl twitched upwards for the space of a blink. "…I'll know, Robin. Just go now."

As he waited for the child to make his ascent, he also watched the broad area he was going to have to explore. _I don't think he'll resort to a gun or anything else conventional,_ he deemed, recalling Quindley's somewhat offhanded comment about the criminal he was in pursuit of. _"…Our opponent's method was rather like the acids he is so fond of using when dealing with his enemies; corrosive and painful." Lovely. If his attack on Robin was any indication, he really does have a bit of a fetish. The question is, where will he strike? _His eyes traveled the overhead beams, searching. _Nothing up there that looks like it's in place to be dropped on someone's head…so what, then?_ Unfamiliar with the process for making fertilizer on the industrial scale, he could only guess at what the various equipment and holding tanks were used for. _It might be any of this. This is bad, but…at least Robin's out of the way. _Just as he wished that he'd instructed the boy to go straight back to the car and have the autopilot take him home to Alfred were something to go wrong, he sensed him come to a halt several meters over his head. _In position already. He's fast…_

They moved forward, one above the other, both searching. _He needs a radio before he comes out in the field again,_ Batman decided. _He has a better vantage point than I do right now, but even if he sees him first he has no way of alerting me short of dropping what I gave him or giving away his position by talking. And then, as he put it, he'd be unarmed._ As section after section checked out clear, however, the vigilante began to second-guess his earlier conviction about the criminal staying to protect his name. _For all I know he has millions in the Caymans or someplace. If he got out of the country with a bankroll, he could move somewhere that would let him throw acid on babies to his heart's content. In that case, why stay?_ As much as the part of him that didn't want Robin involved hoped that was the case, he knew first-hand what kind of pain and wondering that sort of end to the night would cause. _That isn't what I want for him, but…I don't want him ending the night in the morgue, either. _

Something splashed onto the ground in front of him without warning as he passed between two towering metal mixing vats. "Don't look up unless you want an eyeful," came a taunt.

Having glimpsed enough of the area before entering it to know that there was a catwalk midway between himself and Robin, he fired his grapple blindly and rode it up to the railing. "…Why the circus, Zucco?" he queried once he'd taken up his stance, keeping his eyes riveted to the hose in his target's hand. _Whatever that's got in it, I don't want it on me. _

"You don't waste time, do you, Batman? Cut right to the point, to your mission. I respect that in a man. But you should know…I'm not a time-waster, either. I practice what I preach." With that, he pointed the nozzle straight at his opponent, gave the same grin he had a short while earlier when he'd been about to douse the boy in nitric, and squeezed the release.

The vigilante got his cape up just in time, but the pressure of the flow knocked him back a step and threatened to push his shield out of the way. A smell similar to horse urine flooded his nose as liquid dripped through the grate under his feet. _If that's a supply line for these containers, he could spray me all day long with it and not run out of ammunition._ A single drop of liquid bounced off of his upraised arm, landing on the back of his neck, and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a silent hiss of pain. _This is getting too ugly. Showing up in court tomorrow with half my face melted wouldn't be much better than if Dick walked in like that. Back off and regroup._

There was no way he'd be allowed to climb down the ladder, and grapple gun was too easy of a target; his arm would be outstretched, and the line itself, while able to bear remarkably heavy loads for its thickness, would be eaten through in no time under the coating that Zucco's weapon could give it the moment it appeared. His only potential escape presented itself in the form of the railing bumping against his hip. _We're ten feet up. If I roll and don't land in the acid, I should be able to recover and move before he can react. Maybe from there I can lure him down to see if the job's done. That will have to do._

With no other plan open to him short of charging forward foolhardily and risking a faceful of nitric, he let himself tumble backwards. Just as gravity pulled him past the point of no return, there was a sharp cry, and the barrage ended suddenly. _…What the-?_ He dared a look and found a bright figure straddling a downed mountain of a man, a blood-stained Batarang held upward in one green-gloved hand and a look of mingled triumph, fear, and disbelief on his face.

Batman slammed into the concrete and rolled, an uncharacteristically pleased grin sneaking onto his visible features. _…That's my boy._

**Author's Note: Tomorrow...answers from the man himself. Happy reading!**


	78. Chapter 78

On top of the once again unconscious Zucco, Robin stared at the object in his hand. _Blood. Oh, no, what did I __do__? I mean…I had to knock him out, I couldn't let him keep spraying Batman with that stuff, but…but there's a __lot__ of blood…_

The criminal had remained hidden behind a control panel until a few seconds before he splattered acid onto the ground below, leaving the boy no time to figure out how to alert his guardian to the impending danger. Running to catch up to the spot the cowled man had grappled to, he had watched in horror as the hose was turned on full blast and its flow directed into the cape that was barely raised in time to block it. _Batman!_ he'd nearly shrieked aloud as the now-familiar smell of nitric acid filled his nostrils. _Noooo!_

His vision blurry with tears, he'd charged along the wide roof beam, his hand going to the only pouch at his waist that had something in it. _I'm not supposed to throw this,_ he thought, _but that doesn't mean I can't use it some other way._ Gripping the weapon tightly once he'd unfolded it, he'd launched himself downwards, a moaning wail tearing from his throat as he saw the vigilante tumble over the edge of the catwalk. His aim was perfect thanks to years of preparation and practice for the trapeze, and he'd swung the batarang against the back of the fertilizer man's head as hard as he could before he crashed into him.

…_Batman!_ his worry now shifted back onto the person whose plight had driven him to action. He flew to the spot where the man had fallen over and stared downwards anxiously. "Batman!"

Below, the black-clad figure climbed to his feet, bruised but otherwise uninjured from his rendezvous with the floor. "It's fine, Robin," he called back without looking up, concentrating instead on unclipping the fabric that hung from his shoulders. _If I hadn't switched to the corrosive-resistant cape tonight, it would be a different story,_ his mouth tightened as he held the garment out and examined it. The protective layers that had lent it the ability to repel acid were peeling away, unable to resist the onslaught that Zucco had turned on them. The susceptible leather beneath discolored and dissolved as he watched; when the first tiny hole appeared, he gave voice to a displeasured _hmph_ and tossed the entire thing into one of the standing puddles of acid on the floor nearby. _Useless, now. Let it be eaten entirely; I have no idea how I'd get it home without it damaging the car, and even then there's no salvaging it. More work than it's worth._ Finally looking up, his heart skipped a beat. "Get away from there!"

"Huh? Oh…" Reminded that he was standing on extremely weakened metal, the boy took several large steps backwards, not stopping until he was on the far side of his downed adversary. "Are you really okay?" he called.

There was no answer, but a moment later a hook latched onto the dry railing beside him. In the space of a blink, Batman was beside him. "…Yes,"came a gravelly reply, and for a moment he could feel the man's eyes crawling over him, searching for injuries. "Is this yours?" one gauntleted finger gestured to the blood that had marred his gloves.

"No. It's Zucco's." He gulped. "Did…I didn't hurt him too bad, did I?"

"…Mm. Stay back here." Moving to the crime lord, he flipped him over and did a quick check. _You hurt him less than he deserves,_ he bit back. "You probably gave him a mild to moderate concussion, on top of the damage I dealt earlier. He'll be fine. As for the blood, scalp wounds are usually bloody." Reaching behind himself, he freed two zip ties from his belt and handed one to the child. "Get his feet."

"'Kay." When the criminal was trussed, they both retreated a short distance. "…Here's your batarang back. Um…sorry about the blood." _I wish I could keep it, but…you said 'for now' earlier, and I don't really think I'm going to need it again tonight, so..._

Batman considered him for a second, then accepted the weapon without speaking and carried it back to the figure whose bodily fluid was splashed across it. Wiping it carefully along the chemical dealer's clothing, he cleaned it entirely, then folded it back to belt-size and returned to the boy. "…You should keep it," he said simply, holding it out. _You're going to use them sooner or later, and this one is symbolic._

"Like…like a lucky batarang?" Robin asked, reclaiming it with a look of gleeful surprise.

_...A lucky batarang,_ the vigilante almost chuckled. "I suppose."

"So…are we going to talk to him? He didn't answer your question."

"We can try." _ I don't think it will do much good, but short of Ralph coming back with reinforcements – which I rather doubt he will from the way he went for the train instead of a car – there doesn't seem to be anyone else to bother us, so we may as well attempt it._

"How do we wake him up?"

"With this," a vial appeared from another compartment. "Smelling salts."

"Will that work with all the stuff he spilled everywhere?"

_Good question. I don't know._ For all that the air was sickly pungent, though, there was no burning sensation in his airways. "Are you experiencing adverse effects from the acid on the floor?" he queried anyway, wearing a slight frown. _You were exposed to it already once tonight, I don't want you breathing in more._

"No. It's weird."

"Most of it dripped through the grating to the floor. We're ten feet above it now. That's probably why you aren't feeling anything like you did in the warehouse."

"Oh. So…it whatchamacallited? Dissipated?"

"… gas is at a low enough concentration right here that we aren't coughing on it. It should work." With that, he dragged the heavier man forward and shoved the open bottle directly under his nose, holding it there for several uneventful seconds. "He's out cold," he shook his head and pulled back. "I don't think he would have said much, anyway."

"Why not?"

Batman had been preparing to advise that they go bind the rest of the downed men and then summon the police, but the child's question gave him pause. _He wouldn't know that. He reads people quite well, but he hasn't learned how to distinguish between different kinds of criminal minds. At least not yet._ "Several reasons. For one, he clearly has a talent for managing information as well as for concocting believable lies, since he's been selling chemicals illegally since well before you were born. As a result, even if he woke up and talked it would be difficult for us to believe him. Second, he already refused to answer me on two separate occasions earlier this evening; if he could even remember his name after the blow you delivered," – _and it must have been an impressive one, considering that my own couldn't even keep him down – _"I doubt his first thought would be to help us put him in jail for longer. Third, it's just his type. The only other man who might have a clue as to the full extent of his operations," he grimaced, "rode away on the train while we were still at the warehouse."

"…Ralph Zucco?" Robin guessed.

"Correct."

"…Do you think _he'd_ talk, if we caught him?"

"Possibly. But we won't be catching him."

"But-"

"But what?"

"…But we still have so many questions. I mean… _I _do, at least. If he's the only who can answer them…can't we try, at least?"

"No. He's too far away now. However," he added as the boy's posture slumped, "that doesn't mean that the police can't. And if it's Gotham PD that gets him, they'll let me talk to him."

"Tonight?!"

"…Doubtful," he grimaced. _Which may mean that you don't get your answers even if he will talk to me. And that's my fault, in a way…damn it. Well, at least you still don't know about court. We need to get you home, though, so you don't look exhausted when we get there this afternoon._ "Let's go. We'll tie up the others and call the police."

"…You want to just leave Zucco here?" Robin frowned.

"Even if he wakes, he's tied up. And," he flicked the nitric hose down over the edge of the catwalk with his foot so that the bound man would be unable to reach it in the event he did come back to the world, "if he _did_ manage to get free, there's no way down that isn't a ten foot drop."

"There's a ladder right there," the boy pointed.

"Yes, but the damaged section is between him and it, and it won't take his weight." Indeed, the dousing the walkway had taken was so complete that even just the few minutes which had passed had left it visibly thin and brittle. "He's stuck up here, at least until the police manage some method to get him down."

"Uh…but doesn't that mean _we're_ stuck, too?"

"We have this, remember?" he held up his grapple.

"Oh, yeah. Duh," he blushed for the second time that evening. "So we get to fly away?"

"We do. Come here." When the child was within reach, Batman bent down and picked him up. Before they took off, he turned them back to face the crumpled crook who had inadvertently brought them together and sown the seeds of his own defeat. "Take a good look at him, Robin," the vigilante said gravely. "Remember his face as it is right now, at this moment. This is the man responsible for the deaths of your parents." His voice dropped to a near-whisper, and his arm tightened slightly around his load. "And _you_ were a key component in bringing him to justice. Carry that with you, always."

The youth stared hard at the slack expression on the downed man, then nodded. "I will, Batman. I promise."

"Good. Now…we have other work to attend to." He didn't wait for a reply before firing his line out, stepping up onto the railing, and dropping into the open air. Three seconds at most passed before his boots touched down directly in front of where they had split up only a short while before, and a musical little giggle of delight sounded in his ear as he set the boy down. "…What is it?"

"Nothing," he shrugged. "That was just really fun, that's all. I kind of wish…well…I guess that's probably the closest I'll get to a trapeze again for a long time, that and my uneven bars. It would be nice to maybe, you know…do it more often." He looked away, well aware that he was toeing the line. "That's all."

"…Mm." For a moment the cowled man could imagine it, the pair of them swinging through downtown Gotham, heading for god only knew what risky adventure, that same happy noise that had been emitted during the trip down from the catwalk echoing off the glass-fronted high rises in the form of a full-blown laugh from a child for whom to fly was to recapture a moment of lost innocence. "…Let's go."

Robin hadn't been expecting much more of a response than that to his less-than-subtle suggestion, at least not if he wanted to be honest with himself. Rather than push the envelope any further he fell into line behind his guardian, treading where the man's heavy cape would normally flutter. _His cape…it saved his life tonight. If it hadn't held up the way it did, I think he would have gotten hit with the acid. _Shuddering, he glanced back over his shoulder to where a greatly reduced pile of leather made a small lump on the concrete. _Gosh…it was so close, so many times tonight…if he hadn't warned me about Zucco in the warehouse, or if I hadn't knocked him out in here, would we still be alive right now? I…I don't know…_ Disturbed, he quickened his step until he was walking beside the dark figure rather than after him. He wanted to grab his hand, but he sensed that it would be considered inappropriate while they were in costume and refrained. When Batman jerked to a stop and looked over at him just before the door that would lead them back outside, he swallowed. "…What's wrong? Should…do you want to go in front again?"

The appearance of bright colors in his peripheral vision _had_ been what threw him off, but once he gave it a moment's thought he decided that he preferred it that way. _It's easier to keep an eye on you if we walk together. Besides, you…saved me tonight, _he ground out,_ just as much as I did you. Just because I went over the edge doesn't mean I would have escaped injury or worse if you hadn't taken Zucco out at the same time. You earned that spot._ "…No," he replied after a long moment of silence. "You should continue to walk there."

"Next to you," Robin clarified, wanting to be certain.

"…Next to me, yes."

"Okay," he grinned. "Just don't take huge steps, okay? It's hard to keep up when you do."

"…I'll remember that." Then, consciously paying attention to his strides, he pushed through the exit and into the arc-sodium lit night.

All of the henchmen were exactly where they had been left. They made short work of binding them, Batman pausing once to tell the boy to pull the plastic cuffs tighter and then watching as he did so. Straightening from the last body, the vigilante turned to find him staring at the two whom he had fished out of the warehouse after the nitric spill. "…Robin?"

"…I'm ready," he jerked, the moment passing. "I was just memorizing their faces, too."

_He tried to tell me something about them earlier,_ the black-clad figure recalled. _Right after I first found him. I cut him off, but he wouldn't have been trying to tell me about it right then if it weren't important, I'm sure. _"Why?" he asked simply, certain that the basics of the story would come out without further prompting.

"…They were the ones who threatened Pop Haly. I mean," he corrected himself quickly, gathering that referring to the circus director familiarly might give away his identity were anyone conscious to have heard him, "they were the ones who…made the threats. I heard them," he relayed, the double meaning of those three words not lost on either of them. "They…they're the ones that Zucco ordered to put the…the acid on the w-wires." He swallowed hard and squeezed his elbows, trying to calm himself. Now that the action was over, his adrenalin was ebbing away, leaving him heartsick, exhausted, and worried about what Bruce's reaction to the night would be once they were back in the safe anonymity of the car or the cave. "You told me to memorize _his_ face, so I thought…I thought I should remember them, too."

_Oh, Robin. I'm sorry, I should have listened earlier…_ There had been little time, he knew, but it hurt to learn that the boy had carried that knowledge on his own through the rest of the night's events. Glancing about to ensure that they were still alone, he knelt before him. "…They would be very proud of you tonight." _I…I know I am. I should be enraged at you right now, but…the pride is stronger._

"Th-thanks…" He sniffled once, then coughed. "Sorry."

"I know." Lips tight, he let one hand rest on the child's shoulder. "We'll call the police from the car." Then, with a single soft pat, he regained his feet and headed for the still-open loading gate, slowing just enough for the youth to remain at his side.

**Author's Note: I know I promised answers in this chapter, but my muse read that and ran in the other direction. Answers WILL come soon, I promise! For the next few chapters, however, it's going to be cuddles, angry Alfred, and the she-devil Margine Randall. Happy reading!**


	79. Chapter 79

They walked across the broad, grassy field without speaking. Batman's eyes stayed turned towards their destination; Robin's, however, glanced over his shoulder to the lights of the fertilizer complex numerous times. _It's weird, I feel like so little time has passed since I snuck downstairs. I guess it hasn't been very long, really – that can't have been more than a few hours ago – but the job's done. We got him. We got Zucco, and the other two, too…_

As they drew up to the car, he hesitated. "…Batman?"

"Mm?"

"Um…do I get to sit inside with you on the way back to the cave?"

The answer seemed obvious until the man stopped and thought about the fact that the child had very much _not_ been beside him for the drive to Newtown. "Where did you hide earlier?" he asked.

"In…in the trunk." _There's no point in lying to him about how I got here_. _For one thing, I don't __want__ to lie, and for another he'd figure it out in, like, two seconds anyway._

"…Show me." Intrigued, he led the boy to the rear of the vehicle and let him pop the lid. _Good thinking,_ he thought appreciatively when he saw where several of the storage containers had been removed. _But how did he fit in there? He's small, but…it's still a mostly full car trunk._ "What did you do with the missing boxes?"

"They're hidden behind the Batcycle. I didn't think you'd see them there, and I didn't have time to move them further."

"Mm." _Well done. It fooled me, obviously._

"…You're not going to make me go in there again, are you? Like as…punishment, or something?" _Please say no,_ he begged mentally, his stomach turning at the thought. _Please, please say no…_

"No." _Of course not. I wouldn't be that cruel. Not to you, at least._ "Why?"

"It just made me really sick earlier, that's all. Actually…watch your feet. I think I threw up right around where you're standing."

The vigilante stepped back immediately, peering at the ground until he found the spot where the child had left his dinner. _…We should probably remove that. Then again, what are the odds that anyone will come this far out from the factory looking for clues? Even if they did, they might very well just assume it was left by some homeless person. Besides,_ _Alfred is going to be unhappy enough without there being a bag of vomit and dirt to be disposed of._ "Show me how you got in there."

"…But I get to ride up front, right?"

"Yes."

"'Kay." His muscles protested as he folded them back into the too-small space. "So…I laid like this, only I pulled the lid closed, obviously. It's a basic contortion. Well…a couple, really, I'm just doing them at the same time. Can…can I get out now?"

"Yes." _That's a hell of a talent. I knew he was flexible, but crunching up like he just did isn't something most people can manage. It will serve him well._ As the youth scrambled out with a sigh of relief, the man almost smirked. _He snuck out of bed and past Alfred in the house. Then he made it past me and into the car. He rode in the back all the way here, got out – again without alerting me to his presence – threw up from carsickness, and followed me inside. And that was before he did anything with the goons or Zucco._ _He's either very good, or very lucky._ Looking down, he was greeted with a patient smile. _…Or maybe both._ "One more thing, and then we'll go."

"…What do you need the first aid kit for?" Robin frowned concernedly as the man reached for the largest box in the compartment.

"An annoyance." The splash of acid that had hit the back of his neck had managed to land on the one thin strip of flesh that was visible between his suit and cowl when he ducked his head low, and while he was fairly confident that it hadn't done much more than blister his skin, it still burned.

"I don't think anything in there will make me go away." He'd meant it as a joke, but the words came out flat as he began to question himself. _I was, wasn't I? I know you wouldn't say as much, and I know I technically got Zucco, but…maybe he wouldn't have needed gotten a second time if I hadn't been there. Did I just get in the way, Bruce? I feel like…like maybe I kind of did. I mean, you're obviously hurt if you're going for the first aid kit. If that happened when we had to go after Zucco the second time, then…then it's my fault._

Batman stopped, straightened, and turned to the boy. "…You aren't an annoyance, Robin. A little overzealous and a bit disobedient, at least tonight, but…not an annoyance."

"…Really?"

"I meant what I said earlier. Your parents would be very proud of you tonight."

"But…" He stared downwards as he scuffed his boot along the ground. "Are…are _you_? Proud?" _I'm glad that they would be, too, but…I really want to make __you__ proud of me. _

For a long moment, the man made no reply. "Yes," he managed just as the child's posture began to deflate even further under the pressure of silence. With that, he turned back to the medical pack, completely missing the happy grin that stretched across the recipient of his comment's face. Digging out a container labeled only with a chemical formula, he removed his glove – it had, he noticed, also been dribbled with nitric, and was showing the results – and sprinkled a white powder into his bare hand. Adding a bit of purified water from the emergency bottle, he rubbed it into a paste and smacked it against the aggravated area. When the tingling began to ease somewhat he pulled his hand away, leaving clumps to dribble down his back, and then closed both the box and the trunk.

"What was that stuff?"

"Sodium bicarbonate," he answered as they climbed into their respective sides of the vehicle. "…Baking soda."

"Baking soda? Why is _that _in the first aid kit? That's for cooking and cleaning!"

"It's for lots of things. When you mix it with water the way I did, it can be used to reduce blistering and scarring from burns. It's also good for neutralizing acids, which is why I put it on just now."

"…So you got hit?" the boy asked in a small voice. _It's my fault. If I'd been watching Zucco closer, or if I'd just hollered for him to look out when I saw him in the plant…_

"It's nothing for you to worry about."

"Can…can I see?" _I hope it isn't bad…_

"Later, when we get home."

"…Okay." He stared hard at the dashboard for a moment. "…Are we calling the police now?"

"Yes." _What's going on with you?_ he wondered, starting the car and steering back towards the roadway._ You should be ecstatic about having gotten Zucco, but you seem almost melancholy now. You were fine just a minute ago…are you worried that I'm upset with you? I would think that you would know why I am. Well…why I should be. I __am__, it's just…tempered, I suppose, by the excellent job you did. With no training,_ he marveled. _Luck. Talent. Whatever it is that you demonstrated tonight, it's potent._ "You need to stay quiet, do you understand? The Commissioner has no idea about you, and he doesn't need to, at least not right now."

"Okay. I won't say anything." As the call went through, he worked his boots off with his toes, kicking them to the floorboards so that he could curl his tights-clad feet beneath him. _I think I probably stepped in some of that acid,_ he mused. _I don't want it to burn the seat. Or my butt,_ he added. _That would be awkward._

"Commissioner," Batman's signature growl drew his attention back to the man in the driver's seat.

"Batman. You sound like you have something for me?"

"Yes. The Grayson murderer."

"…Really?" Somehow, the man on the other end of the line didn't sound surprised to hear that the vigilante had been working on that particular case.

"You're going to have to cross into Newtown to get him. He and roughly a dozen of his employees are tied up at the fertilizer factory. Two of the workers were the ones who managed the extortion of Haly and are responsible for the application of nitric acid to the trapeze wires. Don't call the local police until your men have the scene secured; the perpetrator has the vast majority of the city in his pocket, and may have the authorities working for him. You'll also find a large amount of evidence of illegal bulk chemicals dealing. I have a source that stated he's been selling to terrorist organizations for some time."

"…A man who sells bomb-making materials to terrorists killed a pair of circus acrobats? I believe you, don't get me wrong, but…that's a hard connection to make."

"The person who can make that connection clearer will be going through the Gotham shipping yards on a south-bound freight train in…" he glanced at the clock, "roughly fifteen minutes. If they swung north after leaving here, it will be the Bludhaven yards in twenty-five. The man you're looking for is Ralph Zucco. The train will have a chemicals shipment onboard." He paused. "Tony Zucco – the one who ordered the murders – can go straight to the feds, if you like, but I need to speak with Ralph."

"Aah…okay. We'll get right on it, Batman. Thank you."

"…Right."

When Robin was sure the call was over, he spoke up. "Do you think they'll catch him? Ralph?"

"Commissioner Gordon is no fool. He'll send SWAT to stop all incoming trains in Gotham, and he's probably already on the phone with Bludhaven advising them to do the same." _Although it's hard to know what they'll do up there,_ he considered. _That's an odd operation, police-wise. Unless they're trying to get up into Canada, though, the train should swing towards the coast. They'll only run for Bludhaven if they get a heads-up on the blockage in Gotham, is my bet._

"And the Commissioner…he'll let you talk to Ralph?"

"If he's still his prisoner by tomorrow night, yes. There won't be time tonight for me to talk to him, not once they get him arrested and booked."

"…They wouldn't release him, would they?!"

"No. But they might have to give him to the feds for illegal shipping over state lines. That's why I said that I want to speak with Ralph; knowing that, he'll try to distract them with Tony and the others and hold Ralph back until I can find out what I want to know."

"…I just want to know why," Robin said softly, turning his head to stare out of the side window. "Why them? Why…why the circus? We didn't do anything wrong, so _why_?"

"…I know." _I just hope he has a better answer than 'because Tony felt like it.' If that's the best I can get from him, it won't give you closure in the least._

"…Batman?"

"Yes, Robin?"

"I…I'm sorry I snuck out tonight," he said contritely. "I mean, I _had_ to, I know you told me no but I _needed_ to be here tonight, but…I didn't like lying to you. Or…or hiding things from you, like how I read the files when you left them out on the desk. That was awful. I…I'd rather be honest with you. But…well…why didn't you _tell_ me about the test you ran on the acid?" He swallowed hard. "I don't understand that. When I saw that it really _had_ been Zucco, and you could prove it, but you were still saying you needed a motive and you didn't know…I wanted to talk to you so bad. Not about the test so much, just…about everything. But I couldn't, because then you'd have known I read the files without permission, and you'd have been mad, and…and you're mad anyway, aren't you?"

_Damn. Can't this wait? Although I suppose now is better than later for us to talk, since Alfred will have his own piece to say when we get home…Alfred._ Remembering the butler and well able to imagine his worry if he went upstairs and found the boy's room deserted, he reached for the dash computer again. "Hold on," he instructed the child.

"…Sir?" the Englishman answered swiftly.

"He's with me."

"…I beg pardon?"

"Robin is with me."

"…_What?!_" came a poorly-restrained exclamation after a brief silence.

"I'm sorry!" the boy threw in desperately, all but in tears between his guardian's delay in answering his question and the clear upset in the older man's voice.

"Are either of you injured?" came back immediately.

"No," Batman replied.

"…What about-" Robin interjected.

"Nothing," he was cut off, "worth mentioning."

"Well," a crisp tone opined, "I imagine we'll be having a discussion once you've both returned safely. In the meantime, Master Robin, let me just say that I am shocked."

"…I know," he whispered.

"What was that?"

"I…I know," he repeated a bit more loudly. "I'm s-sorry…"

"Yes, well…" The ire from the other end of the line seemed to recede slightly as the sound of a childish sniffle came from the Batmobile's younger occupant. "I will see you both soon. Drive safely, please." With that, he was gone.

Batman didn't take his eyes from the road as they crested the last ridge between Newtown and Gotham and coasted downhill towards the freeway that cut through the larger city. As the child tried valiantly to hold back his tears on the other side of the seat, the vigilante considered his question. "…I'm disappointed, Robin," he began slowly. The second word caused a tiny, sobbing breath, and from the corner of his eye he saw the child's lower lip retreat between his teeth. "But…I also understand why you felt you had to do what you did tonight."

"Y-you do?"

"…Yes. I do. Your intentions were honest, even if your methods weren't."

"I didn't want to lie to you. I really didn't. I just…you wouldn't let me come, I knew you wouldn't because you kept _saying_ it, and…and I _had_ to…"

"I know. I understand why you did what you did; now _you_ need to understand why I did what _I_ did."

"With the acid test, you mean?"

"Yes. And with not letting you out in the field. Those things were withheld from you for your own protection. Perhaps those decisions were…mistakes. Perhaps. But I would not have decided as I did had I not believed that they were the best choices to make for your safety. Does that make sense?"

"…I don't get why not telling me about the test was protecting me. That _hurt_. I…don't you trust me?" he burst out. _I feel like maybe I __am__ a thief, after all. I just stole information instead of things. I don't like that feeling…and now that I stole, you don't trust me anymore. You locked up the files, and you haven't been telling me things. _

"If I didn't trust you, Robin, I wouldn't have allowed you to stay on the mission tonight. As for the test results…they seemed likely to do nothing but hurt you, and possibly drive you to do exactly what you did tonight. Which," he added, "they clearly did, thus making it the right decision from a practical standpoint. From a human view, however…you deserved to know. And I would have told you, once Zucco was in custody. He's a very dangerous man, as you saw. I didn't want you trying to tackle him, either on your own or with me."

"When you talk to Ralph, are…are you going to tell me what he says? I mean, unless you're going to let me go with you to talk to him," he tacked on. _Which you totally aren't, I already know. I'm probably grounded for the rest of my life…_

"I'll tell you what he says, when I talk to him." _Assuming I'm still allowed anywhere near you in a place I can speak about such things without giving myself away,_ he didn't add.

"And…um…you said you were…proud? Earlier?"

"…Yes?" he answered slowly, sensing dangerous ground ahead.

"…Did you mean that?"

"…Yes."

"So…does that mean that I did an okay job tonight? Other than, you know, sneaking out and all of that. But…the important stuff? I did okay on that?"

"First of all, sneaking out is part of the 'important stuff.' _Don't_ do it again. As for the other things…you did better than I expected." _You survived with no injuries,_ he thought, tight-lipped. _And you were a help, despite everything. I wish I could tell you that I want to train you to go out regularly, but I know better than to try. Even if you have been quiet this last little while,_ he noted silently. _Waiting for backup when we get home?_

_Yes,_ Bruce replied shortly. _And don't you dare tell him that he can train for fieldwork. I'll never forgive you for making me break a promise like that to him._

…_I still believe it's only a matter of time._

_And I still know that you're wrong. I'm not budging on this._

_But he __did__ do well tonight._

…_He was fantastic. But that doesn't change the fact that he's a child, and that I want a better life for him. A life centered in the day._

_What does the day matter if there's no dark to counter it?_

_The same as the dark does without the light; for nothing. And that's why I need him. That's why he can't go out in the field. I need my bright boy to be home safe._

_Zucco implied that he wouldn't have been safe there much longer._

_Well…we'll get to the bottom of that once a few arrests have been made. Then he __will__ be safe, so long as I can protect him from Randall._

_Randall is a problem._

_ …I know. I just wish I knew the answer to it._

_ As do I._ A light touch on his elbow caused the conversation to break off. "…Yeah?" he glanced over to find the boy at his side, two fingers hovering over his arm.

"Are…are you more disappointed, or…more proud?" was asked in a small voice.

"…The latter, Robin." This time he didn't miss the joy that brought to the portion of the pointed face visible beneath the mask. _You see? This pleases him._

_ It could kill him._

_ So could many things. A slip. A disease. A car._ The child snuggled up against him, making that line of thought suddenly distasteful. _The point is, civilians…die…every day._

_ Not him._

_ …No,_ Batman agreed, allowing his arm to fall across narrow shoulders as the exhausted youth dropped off to sleep, apparently undisturbed by the fact that his pillow was made of blunt body armor. _Not him. Not if either of us can help it._


	80. Chapter 80

"…Robin?" The slight form that had molded itself to his side didn't reply. _Mm. Well,_ he glanced through the windshield to where a worry-lined butler stood waiting, _he __does__ need to sleep. And I'm not comfortable with him being upstairs in the house by himself anyway. Not until I know exactly how far Zucco got with his plan._ Sliding towards the door, he carefully laid the child down on the seat. _No nightmares while I'm outside,_ he lectured silently. _I won't be able to hear you to know that you need someone._

"Master Wayne," Alfred stepped closer when the vigilante climbed out of the car. "…Where is he?"

"Asleep. He's fine, but I don't want him left alone."

"Certainly," the older man visibly unclenched his jaw. "How did this occur? Surely you didn't _allow_ him to go with you?"

"…No. It's a long story. We'll talk after I change; these clothes may have residual nitric acid on them, I don't want to wait longer than necessary to get out of them."

"Is that where your cape has gone, then?" _I assumed you'd merely removed it in order to cover Master Dick, but that would appear not to be the case._

"Yes. It was too damaged for repair. I disposed of it."

"Very well then," the Englishman shook his head, looking a bit disturbed. "I'll wait here for you."

_ Don't be too hard on him,_ the vigilante thought as he stripped, taking the unusual step of beginning with his boots rather than with his cowl in order to extend the time that he was nominally in control. _As I told him, his methods were poor, but his intention was good. I believe that he only resorted to the means that he did because he was given no other option if he wanted to achieve his goal._

_ Yeah, well, he won't be doing it again, unless he wants to sneak out without a mask. He can still be Robin, but in the cave only. We'll go back to the original plan._

_ …You can't do that. Don't take his mask._

_ He can have it back when he's older, maybe._

_Don't__. Weren't you listening in the car? He feels like we don't trust him. Taking his mask from him will only reinforce that idea, and if he believes that we don't trust him, then why should he continue to trust us? _

Bruce didn't reply for a moment. _…Damn it, can't we protect him from __anything__? _he burst out suddenly._ Zucco, Randall, __life__…something?_

_ We can try, but…sometimes the things we try to keep someone from for their own protection are the things that they need the most._

_ …What, like you trying to keep me from him?_ the billionaire asked, a bit taken aback by the subtle admission of guilt.

_…Yes. Like that. I feel that you are making the same…mistake…with him as I did with you. I agree completely that he would need trained, and thoroughly, before he went out in the field again, but…there's no reason why we can't begin to teach him. If he can at least see that something's happening, that he's progressing, growing closer to his goal, that should be enough to keep him from pulling such a stunt again. _

_ But…he shouldn't need to be Robin any more, _came desperately.

_ …What? _Batman's fingers paused halfway through undoing a strap.

_ Zucco's been captured. He has his closure. What does he need to be out on the streets tackling other criminals for? _

_ …You can't be serious._

_ I am. If there's no one associated with the reason he wanted to be Robin in the first place left to be caught, he doesn't need to be Robin. He said he wanted to keep others from being hurt by Zucco, right? Well, he's done that. He could go back to being just…just Dick again._

_ He never specified Zucco, and I would bet the Batmobile that that isn't what he was thinking. Do you realize what you're implying with what you just said? You're suggesting that he only wanted to help for his own selfish reasons._

_ Hey, __you're__ the one who always claims there's no such thing as altruism._

_ There isn't any such thing as pure altruism. You've read Mauss, you know that. I'm not saying he didn't have something to gain by being Robin; in fact, I'm arguing the opposite. What I'm trying to make you understand is how much more he has to gain from being masked. _

_Such as?_ Bruce challenged.

_Discipline. Self-respect. Confidence in his own abilities. A sense of usefulness. Besides..._ He paused before a mirror, took in his reflection – now clad in perfectly normal civilian pajamas until the cowl began at his neck – and pushed the lenses over his eyes out of the way. Meeting his own gaze, he watched it flicker away, then dragged it back. _If we went out tomorrow and captured the person responsible for…their…deaths, would we stop?_

_ That's a completely different situation!_

_ It isn't. It's what brought us together in the first place. Lost childhood, and a desire to see right done by the innocent. Can you honestly say that he is lacking either of those things?_

_ No, but it doesn't have to manifest itself in the same way, damn it!_

_ …With the example he's been set in the past two weeks, how else do you expect him to exhibit those traits? And don't say the charity work; that's never been enough for you, and with the…distance…he's shown towards money, it will be even less of a balm for him. His people, the troupe, they didn't show care with cash, they showed it with action, and time. His entire life, that has been his example, and you and I have only been reinforcing it. There's no way to change that, not now. We can take it slowly, by all means, but…I think it has to be this way._

"God _damn_ it," Bruce cursed, ripping off his headgear. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward against the glass. "You're wrong. There has to be another way. I just…Alfred. Alfred will know. Alfred will support me." Not daring to look at himself again, he turnedand exited the changing area, the bat-eared helm still clutched in one hand. Despite his deep displeasure, he took a moment to check it for acid damage before draping it over its stand. _If he has to still be Robin, can't the radio be enough?_ he begged silently, moving back towards the main chamber. _Here, safe in the cave…what's wrong with that? Even if it isn't something that's technically needed…a sinecure,_ the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he recalled his amusement at the fact that the boy had even fathomed such a concept, _can't that suffice? Why does he have to be in danger from one source or another constantly? Zucco, Randall, Robin…one threat fades, and another rears its head. Is it so much to ask to not have to worry constantly that my nine-year-old will be subjected to borderline torture or be outright killed? I don't think it is. Those can't be normal worries, no one would ever have children if it were…_

"Is anything salvageable, sir?" Alfred's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Hmm? Oh. I, uh…I didn't really look," he confessed as he dropped into a chair. His hand rose to the back of his neck to scratch, then flew away when pain flared. "I don't think anything other than the cape got hit too badly."

"I'll give it all a thorough going-over later on," the butler nodded. Pitching a glance back towards the car, he took a seat opposite his elder charge. "…Well, sir?"

"…Alfred, I don't know what to do." For all that he had argued vehemently with Batman a mere minute earlier, he was far less certain in his conviction than he had made himself out to be. _I know why Dick needs to keep being Robin, and I know…I know that feeling that drives him, that need to do something worthwhile. I just thought I could save him from that. I wanted capturing Zucco to be enough. I know how this goes; you start out okay, but you get into the cycle, and then you can't stop. I want him to have a better life than that. Too little sleep and too much worry are __not__ the legacies I want to pass down to him, but…I remember what it felt like before I started going out, too. _The sense of worthlessness; the sleepless nights steeped in self-hatred; the imagined disappointment of his murdered parents. All of it washed over him again, just for an instant, and he shuddered. _How can I put him through that, when I know so intimately how soul-crushing it is? Then again, how can I allow him to participate in the only thing I've found that truly mitigates those feelings when doing so is so damaging, physically, emotionally, and psychologically? Where's the line? What's the better choice? Neither is good, but which is less bad? _

The Englishman was at a loss. _What on earth happened tonight, and why does it seem to be such a dire matter? How did Master Dick even get to the field, if not with your permission? Furthermore, if you are both home safely, does that mean that the mission was aborted when the young master's presence was discovered? You were out an awfully long time for the task to have not been at least attempted…_ "Sir, I must ask that you advise me as to what happened after you left the cave. I understand that you have a rather weighty question on your mind, but it seems likely to be the sort of thing I can't help with so long as I lack a basic knowledge of the evening's events."

"It started before I even left," the billionaire sighed, and launched into his story. Alfred's expression grew both graver and more contemplative as the tale went on, and by the end of it he had abandoned his stiff posture at the edge of his seat in favor of leaning back with one leg crossed over the other, his attention utterly riveted to the other man. "…And now I'm confused as hell," Bruce finished. "I know what he wants; he wants to be out there in the field with Batman. Part of me wants that, too," he admitted. "The few moments when I wasn't completely terrified that something awful was about to happen to him were probably the most enjoyable ones I've ever spent on a mission. And he's _good_, Alfred. He's very good, and he could be amazing with a little training. Despite that, I'm just so scared, and so…I don't know. I guess disappointed in myself."

"Disappointed, sir?"

"Yeah. Disappointed that…that I couldn't keep him from all of that. From wanting a mask, from following me out tonight, from seeing…from seeing the things he saw. I don't blame myself for his parents' deaths – I did a little at first, I think – but everything since then has been my fault. He wouldn't have gone to the Center if I'd just spoken up that first night; even after that, I could have saved him from Kevin, and maybe from Randall, if I'd taken him away before she really got her teeth set in him. He wouldn't have had so many nightmares, and maybe he wouldn't be questioning my trust in him now, if I hadn't had that…that _stupid_ rejection episode last week. He wouldn't have heard all the nasty things he did from people who should have known better, or at least have watched their tongues, if I hadn't been so goddamn desperate to show him that he could make a difference without a mask. Maybe if I'd weighed that a little better beforehand he wouldn't have had such a bad experience, and the example would have worked. I guess it's too late for that now that virtually everyone else involved with high-roller donating in this city has made it clear that they have no idea what true charity is."

"…Ah. Yes." _I daresay I know the feeling of watching one's child set themselves on a path that, while righteous, is sure to lead to their destruction, if not physically than elsewise. These extra years have not, I'm discovering quickly, managed to lend me any more insight on how to block that route without causing dire harm to the person who is so set on traveling it. When the desire is so great that a usually obedient child sneaks out in the manner Master Dick did tonight or,_ a flash of painful memory shone in his eyes for an instant, _leaves for three years to be clandestinely taught the arts they'll need for the journey, there is naught one can do but try and ensure that you offer as much support as possible along the way. _"I'm not saying that you ought to feel guilt," he clarified. "Merely that I can see why you might, even if it is undeserved to an extent."

"...I don't know what to do," the younger man repeated helplessly. "I know he needs it – I get that, I really do, I understand that I…that I failed him in that regard – but as little as I want to see him live with the…the crippling uselessness that restricting Robin to the cave would make him feel, I want to see him frightened, or injured, or…or…something else…even less. I want to do what's right for him, Alfred, but I don't think I have the strength. The risk is just too great. I can't lose him, and especially not to my own stupidity."

"…Until a short while ago, Master Wayne, I could not had believed that I would ever say what I am about to," the Englishman began slowly. "Indeed, part of me is still quite stirred up about it. I don't imagine it will ever really settle, but I suppose I'll simply continue to live with that discomfort, because I must. You fear losing the young sir to something resulting from your 'stupidity,' by which I assume you mean the folly of allowing Robin to join Batman in the field. Am I correct?"

"…Yes."

"In that case, I must argue that folly lies along _both_ the paths open to you at this moment. The pitfalls of one, may be avoided or at least very delayed; those of the other, I'm afraid, will strike fast and for certain. To speak frankly, sir, if you let Robin into the field – with thorough training, good equipment, and constant supervision, of course – you might lose him to a tragedy, sooner or later. If you keep him cooped up here, though, or worse yet take him away entirely, you _will_ lose him to those very emotions you just described as 'crippling.' Would…" He shifted, frowning and pursing his lips. _I must. I must say it. I loathe it, but my hatred for this truth does not make it into a fallacy._ "…Would it not be better to help him live as happily as he possibly can than to force him into an empty-feeling survival?"

"…I know what you mean," Bruce conceded, eyes damp. _It's the same fucking argument I used for my own case a week ago,_ he laughed miserably at himself. _I should have known that was a double-edge sword. _"But…maybe it will go away? I don't know. I just…I just want him to be safe, Alfred. Safe and happy. I could buy him anything in the world, except the one thing that he deserves the most. The irony in that is almost too much, you know?"

"He has the skills and the drive for night work, as you yourself have noted. I…I honestly do feel that it would be doing him and those he might help as Robin a great disservice to not at least give him a chance to train, and to put the talents he has been honing his entire life thus far to some good use. I cannot believe I am advocating this, but…I think you must do it, Master Wayne."

"It's not safe," he insisted flailingly, now crying openly as he tried to deny the decision he was gradually resigning himself to. "I know, I know, the other way isn't either, but…if anyone can keep him safe, shouldn't it be me?"

"Ideally. But ideals are more often than not unattainable, and that goes double for the raising of children, particularly," he gave a tired smile, "those with minds of their own. There is a quote...what is it…ah, yes. 'A ship in port is safe, but that is not what ships are for.' I'm not suggesting that you throw him straight into battle – in fact I must insist that you take your time, not only for his own safety but because I will now need to acquire better materials for his costume – but leaving him tied up at the moorings will only lead to rot. Seek out the middle ground between the extremes, and I believe you'll be able to manage the risk to a greater extent than you might think possible." _Let that be true. Please, let the risk be somewhat controllable, at least until he gets his feet beneath him._ "…That would be my advice for punishment as well, as a side note."

"That isn't exactly my forte, I don't think." _…And I still don't know what I'm going to tell him when he asks if he gets to keep being Robin. I know that's what he meant earlier when he asked if I was mad at him, but even with Alfred's opinion to weigh, I…I just don't know if I can do it. It's such an impossibly huge gamble…_

"Correction isn't an enjoyable task, but it is your responsibility."

"…I'm trying to remember what you used to make me do when I got in trouble, but none of it seems quite _right_."

"You'll manage, Master Wayne." Rising, he paused. "…After all, you always do."

"…Thanks, Alfred." _I learned from the best._

"Not at all. Now, I believe I'll go see to your clothing. I would like to see the young sir before you take him to bed, if you please."

"…Could you _not_ make him cry again?"

"Did I make him do so before?" the butler asked with a vague look of concern.

"I think it was a combination of you and me, but…yeah. He was pretty sniffly after we hung up."

"Well, that wasn't my intent by any means, but…it shows that he's contrite, if nothing else. Perhaps that will make him think twice before doing it again. But in the interim I shall temper my disappointment, especially if he's questioning our trust of him. Enough others have done that to him of late, and the last thing he needs is to feel that we're picking up their rhetoric." _He's finally stopped acting as if I think he's trying to steal something every time I come upon him alone in a room. I would prefer to keep it that way._

"I'll make sure we see you before we go upstairs."

"Very good, sir. And Master Wayne?" he called as his elder charge stood and headed for the car.

"…Yeah?"

"Do your best, and hope." There was a strange satisfaction in sharing those few words with someone whom he knew needed them at that moment just as badly as he himself had when he'd received them from his father some two decades before. "After all, that is all anyone can do when it comes to raising children and to life in general, no matter how much they might wish the case were different. Keep that in mind, hmm?"

"…Yeah," Bruce peered at his retreating back. _That's…that's an annoyingly accurate statement on how little control I really have,_ he sighed. _Hope…I've never been good at hope. For you, though, kiddo,_ his gaze traveled to the vehicle in which the boy still slept, _I'm willing to figure out how to hope like hell._

**Author's Note: The quote that Alfred cites is from Admiral Grace Murray Hopper. Happy reading!**


	81. Chapter 81

"Mphf…Batman?" Robin mumbled sleepily as large, gentle hands gathered him up.

"We're home, chum," was all that was said in reply.

Hearing no gravel in the tone, the boy opened his eyes and blinked at the man carrying him. "Bruce," he whispered. "…You're still mad at me, aren't you?"

"…I'm not mad. I said so in the car, remember?"

"Oh. Right. Just…disappointed." _That's even worse, though. Now I'm in trouble __and__ I let you down._ His face grew fierce for a second. _But it was worth it. Zucco is going to jail, and you'll forgive me. I know you will._ _I just…I just want it to be really soon that you do, that's all. _"Bruce, I-" he prepared to begin another round of apologies and claims that he'd _had_ to do what he did.

"Hush," the billionaire stopped him, setting him down reluctantly in the costuming area. "You need to change, and Alfred wants to see you. Then it's bedtime."

…_Bedtime._ The nearly synchronous firing of two pistols sounded in his head, creating an odd backdrop to the memory of the death-spraying hose that had been aimed only a short time before at the man now kneeling before him. "…Do I have to try and go to sleep by myself?" he asked slowly, not meeting his guardian's steady gaze.

_Jesus, you already know you're going to have new nightmares from all of this,_ Bruce grimaced. _A feeling of worthlessness, or potential death and awful dreams. There's no way to win with those as the only choices. And it will only get worse the more you see…_ "No," he finally answered. "No, you can come straight in with me tonight."

"…Yay," the child smiled, a happy bashfulness suffusing his expression. "Thank you."

_Zucco basically threatened to kill you, and…and this might be the last night I have you near. I'm not letting you out of my sight for the next twelve hours._ "Don't thank me yet," he advised. "You still have to talk to Alfred."

"Is…is he super mad? Did you tell him what all happened?"

"I did," he nodded, reaching over to grab a small bottle of spirit gum remover from a drawer. "I don't know if I'd say he's _mad,_ though."

"…Just disappointed, too?" the boy asked, holding still as a dampened finger was wiped along the edges of his mask. _Wait…why are __you__ doing this? I should be taking my own mask off…you aren't going to take it away, are you?! I just got it, Bruce, please…!_ "Um," he started, then trailed off when the billionaire leaned back with the disguise piece in his hand. _Please, Bruce._

The billionaire watched worried blue go back and forth between the fabric he held and his face. _You seem more worried about your mask than about whether or not Alfred's mad at you,_ he mused. _…I'm not really sure how I feel about that. As for this,_ he jostled the black accessory slightly, _I don't know what I should do. Shit. Maybe I should have figured that part out __before__ I woke you up._ "Um," he echoed the boy in his uncertainty. Then, to the surprise of them both, he suddenly tucked the piece into the deflated yellow belt that girded the child's waist. "That stays in there until I say so. Got it?" _Wait…when did I make a decision? Oh, hell…what am I going to do, really, take it away when I gave it to him less than a day ago? The last thing I have the energy for right now is to see him cry._ _Besides, he…he wore it well tonight. _

There were immediately arms around his neck. _Yeah,_ he decided, pulling the slight figure in close once more, _this is much better than tears._ "Come on," he sighed finally, untangling himself and standing. "Let's go face the wrath."

"I thought he wasn't mad!"

"Dick, trust me…he's not happy, but he's far from the angriest I've ever seen him. Okay?"

"…I guess that means no cookie before bed tonight, huh?"

Bruce laughed. "I'm not touching that one. You can ask him yourself." An audible gulp reached his ears. "…It's like a bandaid, kiddo," the billionaire advised when the boy seemed unwilling to move forward towards the inevitable. "The faster you get it over with, the less it stings. It won't be too bad, I promise."

…_Well, at least I don't have to worry about either of them hitting me or being mean to me for doing something they didn't want me to,_ Dick considered. _Why does that make me feel even __worse__ about having disobeyed?_ "…Okay," he said in a brave little voice. "Where…where is he?"

"I'm right here, young sir," the butler in question stepped out of the changing area. "…Come closer, please."

Dick obeyed. "…I'm sorry, Alfred," he started right in.

"Ah-ah, we're not to that point in the conversation yet," the Englishman lectured crisply, turning his younger charge slowly around as he performed a visual examination. "…You truly escaped without injury?" he pressed when they were facing one another again. "Do not lie to me about it, Master Dick. I'll know, and _you_ should know that failing to confess one's wounds is nearly a mortal sin in this house."

"Uh…I think I have some bruises, maybe?" he said, trying to play it safe. Seeing a muscle under the man before him's left eye twitch, he cocked his head. "…What's wrong? They're just bruises. They aren't bad or anything, if they're even there at all. I'm just kind of sore from being all crunched up in the trunk for so long and from landing on Zucco and the other guy. They'll go away."

"Just bruises? You're certain?" Alfred brushed past his question without addressing it. _So long as his hands and face are clear and the others aren't too extreme, we may be all right still. He'll be in long pants and sleeves in any case, so if he isn't too stiff to move properly it shouldn't show. Children's aspirin is called for with his breakfast, though, just to take every possible precaution._

"Yes. I mean, I don't remember getting hurt anywhere, and I'm not in pain, so…I'm okay. Bruce is the one who got hit with the acid, not me."

"Di-ick," the billionaire groaned.

"Well, you did!"

"Master Wayne? Is this true? And if so, why did you not say anything sooner?" An inquisitorial eyebrow arched, and both younger males flinched slightly.

"It's mild at best, Alfred. A couple drops hit the back of my neck, that's all. I put baking soda on it as soon as we got to the car. It's barely even blistered."

"I'll be the judge of that. Master Dick, go and change, please, and come straight back out here. You can leave your costume in with Batman's."

"Okay," he agreed, and scurried off trailing an air of relief.

"…It's cute how he thinks turning your attention onto me got him out of trouble," Bruce smirked. "I can't even manage to be mad at him for chucking me under the bus."

"He was merely expressing his concern for your wellbeing," the butler said firmly as he moved to examine the reddened mark. "I, for one, am glad that he did. You are correct, however, that this detour won't save him from a talking-to. As for you, sir, this needs an application of antibacterial cream." He paused. "I trust that you'll actually put some on it if I don't accompany you to the medical bay?"

"_Yes_, Alfred." _I'm not the nine year old here,_ he nearly rolled his eyes.

"Very well then, go on with you. I'll wait for the young master." Left alone for a moment with no chore to be attended to, the butler allowed the true extent of his fear and relief to shine through. Shoulders drooping, he covered his bowed face with one hand. _Sneaking out, jumping from rafters, nearly having an entire drum of a highly corrosive substance poured over him…there were a hundred ways the boy could have been killed, or as good as, tonight. And Master Wayne…the gunfire, at least, he is used to avoiding, but that stunt with spraying him with a hose full of acid…it's downright dastardly, is what it is. If this Zucco man is ever let free, I might be sorely tempted to pay him back personally for even attempting to hurt them in such a cruel manner, especially when he's already caused the young sir so much pain._

"Alfred? I'm…I'm all changed."

He turned, resuming his usual mien, to find Dick standing right behind him. "So you are," he noted.

"…Are you okay?"

_Cursedly observant child, _he muttered mentally_._ "Of course. I merely had something in my eye. Now…I believe that we need to have a rather serious discussion. I understand you've already had one with Master Wayne, correct?"

"Yes. Alfred…I'm sorry," he said, eyes shining dolefully. "I really am. I didn't want to do it, to sneak out, but…I _had_ to go after him. I…I really did."

"I understand that, young sir, and that fact is the reason why this won't be nearly as unpleasant as it would have been had you simply been bucking the reins. But you need to understand something, and I think you need to hear it from someone who does _not_ put on a disguise every night and go out into dangerous situations." He caught his gaze, and held it. "What you did was more than disobedient; sneaking out to engage an extremely volatile man such as Tony Zucco was also brazenly foolhardy. Now I know you were driven by very powerful emotions," he held up one hand before the boy could object again that he'd _had _to do it, "but that does not entirely excuse the complete lack of thought you seem to have put into things."

"I thought about it, though!"

"Did you? Did you think about the fact that Batman didn't know you were anywhere nearby, and might have left you behind when he was finished? What if your appearance had distracted him in the midst of battle, and he'd been hurt as a result? What if _you'd_ been injured or captured? We likely wouldn't even have known you were missing until Master Wayne returned home and found both his bed and your own empty, and then it might have taken us some time to realize that your costume was gone as well. Who knows what might have been done to you in the interim? And furthermore, if something _had_ happened to you, what do you think Master Wayne would have felt? And myself, as well?"

Dick had wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach shortly after the barrage of possibilities had begun, and now he ducked his head in shame. "Probably…probably not very good."

"So tell me, then; you thought of all those things, of all the risks to life and limb, of all the agony you might incur or cause to be incurred by others, and you _still_ proceeded to sneak out?"

"N-no," the boy half-moaned. "I didn't really think about…you know…all of those things. I knew it was dangerous, and…and that you'd both be upset if I did it, and if I got hurt, but…I didn't think about Batman getting hurt because I was there. But he did," fat beads of salty moisture began to roll down his cheeks. "He _did_ get hurt because of me. If I hadn't been there, he p-probably could have gotten Zucco the f-first time he had him down…"

_Oh, hell, I wasn't supposed to make him cry. And that guilt he just evinced regarding Master Wayne's admittedly very minor wound…what was that?_ "…Master Dick," he said slowly, "I think you may be a bit confused."

"Huh?" The youth looked up, sniffling.

"Perhaps Batman would not have needed to chase after that awful man a second time had you not appeared. But according to the story as he explained it to me, your actions – your presence – during that second apprehension may have _saved_ him from grave injury more so than been the cause of it."

"…H-he said that?"

"Not quite in so many words, but…yes. Your being there unbeknownst to him _was_ a risk to his safety, but…well, I suppose I ought not to have taken you to task for that particular item, since you rather made up for it a bit later. My point is this, Master Dick; you simply _cannot_ run off and confront criminals on your own. We aren't imposing that rule simply to curtail your freedom, or for some other frivolous reason, but because neither of us want to see you hurt, or worse. Do you understand?"

"…Yes, Alfred," he nodded. "I…I do. I won't do it again. I mean…I won't have to, anyway, since we busted Zucco tonight," he smiled happily.

"You did indeed, young sir, and in fine fashion," he sighed, "other than the illicit departure from your bed and from the cave. Well…if we've reached an understanding, then, it is very much past your bedtime."

"Yeah…"

"Yeah," Bruce agreed as he came around the corner. Noting the redness of the child's eyes, he shot the butler a frown. "Well?"

"We're finished, sir. I believe everything has been made clear in regards to the missteps that were taken tonight."

"You're not mad at me anymore, right, Alfred?" Dick asked, coming closer to tug on his sleeve.

"…No, young sir, I'm not angry with you. I _am_ still a bit disappointed that you didn't think things through a bit more clearly before acting, but that will pass. Now, go on upstairs with Master Wayne, and go to sleep. In the morning," he added, "I'm sure my upset will have passed enough to allow me to set out another waffle bar."

"Really?! That was fun, I like that." He leaned against the Englishman's side until he was given a gentle pat on his shoulder, then shot him a sunny if still damp smile and skipped over to his guardian. "Is your neck okay?"

"It's barely a scratch, kiddo," he assured. _Is that what the tears were about? The fact that I got hurt? Oh, Dicky…this barely even qualifies as hurt, really._ "C'mon, up to bed. Good night, Alfred."

"Night, Alfred!" _I didn't ask about cookies,_ he realized. _But…he told me to go to bed, so he'd probably say no. I don't want to make him upset at me again by asking._

"Good night, sirs," the butler held back an upward jerk of his lips when the boy slipped his hand into that of the man. _Sweet dreams, my boys._

They were quiet until they were tucked in and Dick was ensconced in a desperate, grateful grip that brought on tiredness as if by magic. "…Bruce?" he ventured, yawning.

"What is it, chum?"

"I'm…I'm confused."

"About what?"

"Robin."

…_Do we have to do this now?_ "What about him?"

"Well…you gave me my mask back, even if I can't use it until you say so. But you said I couldn't go with you to talk to Ralph Zucco, even though there's no way that could be dangerous since the police will have him. So I guess…I guess I'm not sure what's going on. Am I…am I just back on the radio, like, until I'm thirty or something? Because that's a _really_ long time, Bruce, and…and if I did okay tonight, like you said I did, then I thought maybe…?"

"Hush," the billionaire quieted him. "Dick…I don't know yet. I realize that that's not very helpful, but I'm just as frustrated by the decision I'm trying to make about Robin as you are by not having an answer. Just…let me sleep on things, okay?"

"…So we'll talk in the morning about it?"

_We're going to have to. I might not have you in the evening…god damn you, Margine Randall. God damn you._ "Yes."

"Can we talk _before_ breakfast? Because I don't think I'll enjoy the waffle bar as much if I'm all worried about what you're going to say."

"Heh," Bruce half-laughed and squeezed him tightly. "We'll talk before breakfast, chum. I promise." He kissed the top of his head. "Now go to sleep. You can't wake up in order to hear my decision if you never go to sleep, now can you?"

"No," he shook his head. "I guess not." A beat passed. "G'night, Bruce…"

"…Night, Dicky. Good dreams tonight, okay? Think about what you would put on a waffle for me, and whatever you come up with, I'll eat it. Okay?" _I may regret saying that,_ he winced, _but if trying to come up with something for me keeps him from having nightmares, I'll choke it down._

"'Kay…"

Bruce lay still as Dick passed out, holding him close as if to protect him from the darkness on all sides. _Now comes the hard part; figuring all of this out in the next six to eight hours, _he deplored._ And how the hell am I supposed to tell him that we're going to court today, and that…that…what might happen? Shit…I guess I won't be sleeping tonight. Not with all of that…_ But the child's body was warm, and the contented little sigh that escaped him at the end of that thought was interpreted by the billionaire's overwrought brain as an invitation to join him in slumber. _Then again…if this could very well be the last dream-free night that I ever have,_ _I should take advantage of it._ Not waiting for him to have a chance to change his mind, his eyelids slipped shut. _Don't let this be the last one,_ was his last conscious thought. _Please. I…I need him. Please…_


	82. Chapter 82

"Master Wayne?"

"…No." The word was said with all the petulance of an aggravated five-year-old, and the billionaire's arms tightened around the boy they held. _If I don't wake up, no one can take him from me,_ his half-asleep mind decided. _So I'll just stay like this._

"Master Wayne, you need to get up."

_No, damn it!_ _We're not going!_ he ached to shout. _We're going to empty the bank accounts, pack the important stuff from downstairs, and disappear. We'll all get plastic surgery and fake identities that have Dick listed as my biological child so that CPS stays the hell off of our backs, and then we'll start new lives. Maybe just buy a tract house in the suburbs, convert its bomb shelter into a new Batcave, and lie low. Then we're safe, Batman is still in Gotham, and that Randall bitch can burn in hell._ He paused. _…Okay, that was mildly insane. If it comes down to it, though…hmm. Is that feasible? I don't know…_ Finally, he opened his eyes. Glancing down to ensure that the child was still out, he met the butler's understanding gaze. "…I can't do this, Alfred." _That will make it real._

"I rather sense that you may not have to, sir. Mister Jones is on telephone." He paused. "He's been holding for several minutes now."

"…Jones? Did he say-"

"He didn't offer, and I didn't ask." Now Alfred, too, looked at Dick. "I assumed you would not want to take the call in here?"

"No, I'll go downstairs to the study."

"Very good. I'll get the young master up and started on his breakfast, then."

Bruce paused. _…But __I__ wanted to wake him._ "Uh…okay," he agreed reluctantly. "Tell him…tell him I meant what I said last night. About the waffles. That way he has something to do until I get done." _If I don't get to watch him wake up, I'm sure as hell going to get to watch him eat. Shit, he's going to be upset at me; I told him we'd talk about Robin before breakfast. Well…it's going to have to wait now. _

"I will do so." A moment passed during which Bruce didn't move. "Are you getting up, then, or…?"

"Yeah, I'm going," he sighed, slowly untangling himself. Rising, he accepted a pair of slippers and headed for the door, only glancing back three or four times. "Alfred…"

"Go on, Master Wayne," the butler shooed him gently. _If the attorney isn't calling with good news, I don't know what we'll do. To lose him now…I don't know that any of us would recover._ Shaking his head, he sat on the edge of the bed and touched the thin arm that had been thrown across the spot that his elder charge had vacated a minute before. "Master Dick? Come along, it's time for breakfast."

"Mmm…waffles…" A dreamy smile crept across his features, and he cracked his eyelids. "…Oh. Hi, Alfred," he greeted, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

"Good morning, young sir. Did you sleep well?"

Hearing no anger in the man's words, Dick relaxed. "Uh-huh," he nodded, stretching. "I always do when I'm with Bruce. I only had one nightmare, and it wasn't even bad enough that I needed to wake him up."

…_Only one nightmare, and that is a good night's sleep,_ the Englishman thought sadly. _Oh, child…_ "Well," he kept his face straight despite his inner lamentations, "Master Wayne has already risen for the day, and will meet you in the dining room."

"…Oh."

"Is there some problem?"

"No, it's just…he said he'd tell me what he decided about Robin before we ate, 'cause I'm not going to have as much fun decorating my food if I'm worried about what he decided." A troubled frown bent his lips as he stared into the middle distance.

_Well, that came about faster than I anticipated. A decision already? I'm surprised. _"He said nothing in that regard to me, but he did ask me to relay to you that he meant what he said last night regarding the waffles. Do you know what he was referring to?"

The boy's mildly displeased expression suddenly righted itself. "Yes! He said I should think really hard about what I'd put on one for him, and that whatever I came up with he'd eat." He sat up, now beaming. "I can't believe he really _meant_ it, though. That's so cool!"

"I hope you'll be kind in your selections and not make anything too unsavory." _This will be a very trying day for all of us; you both need to eat well._

"…Why would I make him a waffle he wouldn't like?" the boy asked quizzically. "That would be really mean."

"It would be, indeed, Master Dick." _I ought to have known better. You're not the sort to purposefully take advantage of power like that._ "Shall we make our way downstairs, then, so that you can get started?"

"Don't I have to change and everything first? I thought we weren't supposed to eat in our pajamas?"

"We'll make a special exception today, if that's all right with you."

"Then…can't I go see Bruce before we go to the dining room? I mean, why did he get up before me, when…" He trailed off, growing visibly thoughtful. "Wait, it's a weekday! Why didn't he go to work? Doesn't he normally stay out way later than he did last night?"

"…He has an important appointment to attend to this afternoon, and felt it would be a waste of time to go into the office just for the morning." _That was not technically a lie,_ Alfred counseled himself.

"Oh. So…is he down in the study?"

"Yes. He's conducting a bit of business from home, and will be breaking off shortly in order to dine with you. Last I knew he was on the telephone, so you going to see him would be a bit pointless. Besides, I'm sure he's famished; wouldn't it be nice to have his food prepared and waiting when he's done?"

Dick watched the butler for a long moment. _This is weird. If Bruce has an appointment this afternoon, doesn't it make more sense for him to already be in town beforehand, like at his office? Unless there's something that he has to take with him from the house, but what's here that he couldn't take to work with him? Unless…unless it's me. _A feeling of dread grew in the pit of his stomach. "…Alfred, does Bruce's appointment have to do with the inspection on Monday? With…with my social worker?"

The Englishman started. _Good lord, are you channeling Batman? That was a frighteningly accurate leap of logic._ _And now I can hardly mislead you about it…well, I suppose you had to be let in on our outing today at some point. Perhaps I can ease you into it somewhat…_ "It does have partially to do with that, yes."

"She's trying to take me away, isn't she?" he asked, voice shaking slightly.

_Don't cry, Master Dick, please don't._ "The key word in that question," he answered as unconcernedly as he could manage, "was 'try.' She may do that all she likes, until she is blue in the face, even, but that will not make her successful."

"But…how can you be sure? She's…she's scary, Alfred."

"Come now, is this the same young man who assisted Batman in the capture of a dangerous criminal only a few hours ago?" _I rather hate using your transgression as a positive example, but I prefer that to having you break down over the prospect of seeing her in court. _

"…I'm not Robin right now, though," he gulped. "Batman can't just swoop in and save me without worrying about the rules."

"You are correct, but that won't be necessary in any case." He rose and regarded the boy kindly. "If you're going to fight for justice as Robin, young sir, you must learn to have faith in the concept. Right will win in this instance; I'm certain of it." _I've no idea __when__ it will do so, of course,_ he kept to himself, _but I fervently hope that today is that day._ "Now, we really ought to head downstairs if you're going to have Master Wayne's breakfast ready for him."

"…Okay, Alfred. I'm coming." _I'll make Bruce's waffles extra good,_ he swore as he tumbled out of bed and padded along behind the butler. _Just…just in case._

Once Alfred had gotten his younger charge settled with an array of toppings and sauces at his disposal, he excused himself and made his way towards the study. _I'd best warn him that the young master has suspicions about today,_ he thought grimly as he knocked softly at the closed door and then entered.

"Yes…yes, I'll see you then. Thank you, Keith, you made my morning." Hanging up, Bruce turned a relieved look to the new arrival. "The hearing's postponed," he announced, his voice thick with emotion. "Until next week, at least."

"…I gather from your reaction that this is good news, sir?"

"Keith seems to think it is. Oh, god, Alfred…" He leaned forward over the desk, letting his forehead fall to rest on his folded hands. "I was so afraid…I still am, but at least…at least now I get a little more time with him, and there seems to be less of a chance of our losing him at all." A deep, solaced sob escaped him. "I don't know what changed, if our request for a later date went through or what, but Keith said he'll explain everything this afternoon. He wants me to meet him at his office at the same time we were supposed to be in court."

"That is very good news," the Englishman, too, sagged. "I also feared what today would bring. To have the decision postponed is wonderful, particularly if the delay makes the verdict more likely to fall in our favor."

"Yeah…" Raising his head, Bruce swiped at his eyes before meeting the other man's gaze. They exchanged weary smiles, then chuckled slightly. "…How is kiddo this morning?" the billionaire inquired when the moment had passed. His face darkened. "Wait…_where_ is he?"

"I left him in the dining room, sir."

"_Alone?!_ Zucco-"

"Master Wayne, if Zucco had men who possessed the ability to break through the perimeter and then the house itself without setting off any alarms, and then to locate the boy in the two minutes I have been here, don't you think he would have already struck? Besides, after his arrest last night I imagine his forces are rather disconcerted, don't you? He's fine for a few minutes. Even if someone did break in, I don't think they'd have a very easy time of capturing him, do you?"

"Yeah, but…hell. It just bothers me that Zucco was already going after him. I'm sure you're right, but…anyway, how is he?"

"A mixed bag, I'm afraid."

"What? Why? Did he have nightmares I didn't know about?" _Damn it, I knew I shouldn't have slept. I was probably so knocked out that I just didn't notice that he needed me…_

"According to him he slept well," Alfred replied, opting not to share that the youth had, in fact, had a bad dream. "However, he has deduced that something related to Monday's inspection is going on today. I tried to dance around it," he said apologetically, "but without lying to his face I couldn't keep him from putting together the clues. He doesn't know the full extent of things, but he _is_ suspicious."

"Clever," Bruce smiled wistfully. "Is that it?"

"He seemed upset that you would not have an opportunity to discuss Robin's future before your meal." He paused. "Have you made a decision on that matter, sir?"

"I…hell, Alfred, I don't know. I…let me talk to him. I won't take much longer – he won't let me, I'm sure – but…it's such a huge thing. I don't want to rush into it, but I don't want to overthink it, either. The last time I did that he ended up traumatized and needing head x-rays; I won't risk that again."

"That seems like a wise use of the middle ground," the butler nodded. "Well done, Master Wayne. Now, I believe that Master Dick may have quite the masterpiece for you to ingest. He was involved with a veritable mountain of blueberries a moment ago."

"…Kid pays attention," the billionaire shook his head, a satisfied gleam in his eyes. "And I suddenly have an appetite, so…let's go."

"Bruce!" Dick exclaimed, bouncing up from his seat as his guardian entered the room. "Look, I made you a ski resort out of fruit!"

"Morning, chum," he accepted a hug. "…A ski resort?"

"Yeah! Look," he pointed. Drawing closer, the man could see what he meant. The 'mountain' of blueberries had been dusted with powdered sugar, and the waffle surface at its base lightly spread with whipped cream. A few slivers of strawberry had been cut down to size and set upright, serving as conifers, and two double lines of strawberry syrup trailed up opposite sides of the slope. "…Chair lifts?" Bruce guessed.

"Yup! And the little dots at the bottom are people waiting in line to get on. I was going to make, like, a ski lodge or something, but I ran out of room on the waffle. I guess I shouldn't have put the mountain right in the middle." He looked upward hopefully. "…Do you like it?"

"You bet I do. It looks delicious _and_ creative."

"Are…are you going to eat it right…right now?"

…_I know what you're angling for, kiddo. Besides,_ he peeked over to find a completely undecorated waffle waiting on the other plate, _it looks like you weren't kidding about being distracted from food this morning. Does that make the ski lodge a bribe, I wonder?_ He frowned. _…No, I think you just remembered that I like blueberries and decided to pile them on, then had to figure out what to do with them. But hey, I won't complain._ "Let's talk for a minute first," he said, taking his seat and carefully moving his plate aside. "Dick…did you have any nightmares last night?" _Alfred didn't really answer. Sleeping well and not having bad dreams aren't necessarily the same thing._

"Um…one."

"Was it about Zucco, or anything that happened last night?"

"Well…yeah." _It was about you, really,_ he didn't say. _About…about losing you._

"And you realize that if Robin goes out in the field you're going to have more and more dreams like that, right?" _I don't want that for you. I want you to know what life is like being able to go to sleep without fear of what visions will haunt you._

"Well, yeah, but…"

"But what?"

"…You know how I didn't come to your room the last couple of nights?"

"Yeah?"

"I…partly it was because I was afraid you'd guess that I was going to do whatever I had to to help you catch Zucco," he confessed. "But…I also didn't have very bad dreams those nights, Bruce. It's like…it's like once I decided that I was going to help, to _do_ something about the person who gave me those dreams, they kind of got better."

…_Huh,_ the billionaire sat back, stymied. "That only happened after you decided that you were going to sneak out?"

"I tried to get you to agree to take me with you at first, but yeah. It only happened once I decided I _had_ to help you, no matter what. Is that weird?"

"…No. It's unusual, but not…weird." He released a long sigh. _What else can I do? I'm out of arguments, and it doesn't look like I'll be able to duck the question as a result of you being removed from my care. Not that I __wanted__ that, by any means, but still._ "Dick…listen. You know that what you did last night, the sneaking out and going after Zucco…that was dangerous, and wrong."

"I know," he looked down at the floor. "Alfred said that, too. But it was just because it was Zucco, Bruce, honest. I…I just had to be part of it, because it was _him._"

"I know. But it was still a bad choice that could have gotten you killed. We all make mistakes, kiddo, but we have to pay for them, make up for them somehow, when we do. Understand?"

"Yes," he whispered. _He's going to take Robin away,_ he thought, certain that that was where this was heading. His lip crept back between his teeth, becoming a chew toy. _I'm sorry, Bruce. Please…please don't take Robin away. I promise, I'll do better…_

"In order to make up for your mistake – which was a big one, I can't stress that enough – you aren't allowed downstairs."

His head flew up, tears performing a delicate balancing act on the edges of his eyelids. "But-!" _Not at all?!_ he cried silently. _Not…not even just to stock the car, and your belt? I don't even have to be Robin to do those things, Bruce, please, don't kick me out of the cave completely!_

"Ah, let me finish," he reached out to thumb away a drop of anguish from one flushed, upset cheek. "You aren't allowed downstairs for two weeks. Not for anything, Dick. But that doesn't mean that you won't have things to do." He hesitated, then drew a deep breath. "I want you to spend time in the gym up here every day. That floor routine that you modified…that was good. I'd like to see you come up with a few more like that. By the time you're allowed back in the cave, there should be plenty of bars, rings, and other gymnastics equipment down there for you. Once the two weeks has passed, so long as you've done what I'm telling you now, we'll…" Something caught in his throat, and he had to swallow hard before he could continue. "…We'll start training Robin for field work. Deal?"

The question had barely exited his mouth when the boy dove into him so hard that he almost upended the chair. "Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!" he squealed, locking his arms tightly around his guardian's neck. "You're the _best_, Bruce!"

"_Ehek-"_ the man choked back. _Well, there's Robin's first secret move; the attack hug._

"Oops, sorry," Dick loosened his hold. "I'm just so excited! But…" he pulled back enough to look his guardian in the eye, "does that mean that what Alfred said upstairs is true? About…about my social worker?"

"What…ahem – Jesus, Dick, your shoulder is too sharp for you to push it into people's throats unless you're _trying_ to incapacitate them – what did Alfred say?"

"That no matter how many times she tried to take me away, she wouldn't be able to."

_I really hope you didn't back us into a corner with that, Alfred, _Bruce sighed silently. _Yes, Keith gave me good news, but that's no guarantee. But I suppose it wouldn't help anyone if we tell Dick that. _"I have absolutely no intention of letting her take you away from me," he answered stolidly. "Or anyone else, for that matter. I have a meeting with the lawyers this afternoon to help keep that from happening. I don't even want you to worry about it, chum. Okay?"

"I'll try. That must be the appointment that Alfred said you have, isn't it? Do I get to come with you?" He bounced eagerly in his excitement, the motion causing the man on whom he was perched a fair deal of discomfort.

"No," he winced. "Dick…sit down, would you? Your knees are just as bad as your shoulder." _I swear, I'm tempted to tell Alfred to just feed you cookies for a couple weeks. I thought you'd have put on a little weight by now, eating his meals all the time._ "You can't come with me today."

"But…then why'd you stay home from work this morning?" he queried, shifting as he'd been bidden to. "I mean…well, Alfred said it would have been a waste of time for you to go to the office when you had an appointment this afternoon, so I figured that you needed to take something with you from here that you couldn't take to the office with you. And the only thing I could think of was me. So…was I wrong?"

Bruce had to bite the insides of his cheeks to keep a blatantly proud smile from revealing his teeth. "No. You weren't wrong. Things just changed, that's all. Keith – Mr. Jones – called just now and said that he needs to see me in his office, and that I shouldn't bring you after all." _There. You were right, you still don't know how close we came to court and its potential consequences today, and maybe now you'll stop thinking about it._

"Oh. I guess that makes sense. So…Robin gets to be trained by Batman, and you're going to keep the bad lady away from me?"

"Absolutely, kiddo."

"Yay!" he threw his arms up. "…This is a good morning, Bruce."

"Yeah, chum," the billionaire ruffled his hair. "It sure is. Now go decorate your waffle before it gets cold, huh? I have a ski lodge to devour."

"Okay," the boy giggled, climbing down. As he did, Bruce reached for a glass of water, bumping his plate along the way. They both watched as several blueberries cascaded down into the whipped cream snow, taking out one of the chair lifts along the way. "…Blueberry avalanche," Dick noted gravely.

"That's the worst kind," the man said with equal solemnity. "You'd be covered in sticky snow."

The child tilted his head to one side and stared him for a long moment. "…You're funny sometimes, Bruce." Then he gave him a happy grin, skipped around to his own seat, and began to drop teaspoons full of chocolate chips on top of the bare waffle that greeted him.

…_You made the right choice,_ Batman offered quietly as they watched the youth playing with his food.

_I don't know. Maybe. I made __a__ choice; let's leave it at that. I'm not sure one was any better than the other, but…this one at least made him happy._

_He won't let us down. _

_I know,_ he picked up his fork and carefully scattered the mountain across his plate. _…That's why I chose the way I did. _A bite of pastry, fruit and sugar stopped for a moment halfway between the plate and his mouth. _So…here's to Robin, I guess._

_To Robin. And,_ the vigilante added, _to_ _his long and useful life._

…_It had better be, Batman. It had __better__ be._


	83. Chapter 83

He departed from the manor a few short hours later, leaving Dick with a reminder about his punishment and secretly asking Alfred not to let the boy out of his sight for more than a few minutes at a time. In the garage, he chose a low-slung sports car painted in a sober pearl gray, aiming for a balance between his fine mood and the need to present a serious, responsible air. As he cruised towards the city, his fingers flicked the radio to a station playing light jazz and began to drum against the steering wheel, his mind wandering onto the topic of what exactly the attorneys wanted to meet about. _I suppose it could just be a rehashing of our plan for court now that we have a bit more time to work with, but…Keith seemed awfully hesitant on the phone when I asked for details. No, it seems more likely that something's changed; after all, he didn't think the courts would grant our continuance, but the hearing's been delayed. If it wasn't due to our motion being approved, then what was it? I can't see him or Whistler calling me all the way down to their offices to tell me it was a scheduling conflict…_

Determined not to let his wondering ruin a rare pleasant attitude towards the world when he would have his answer soon enough, he pushed the question aside for the remainder of the drive. Only when he was shown back into Keith Jones' office and found him, Matilda Whistler, and two people that he was certain were attached to the police waiting did he allow his curiosity to reinvade. "…Good afternoon," he greeted slowly.

"Mr. Wayne," Whistler came around the desk, her hand extended. "Thank you so much for coming. Keith and I hope that this meeting will help to really speed the process of getting you permanent custody."

…_I'll take that,_ he smiled slightly. "Anything I can do to that effect, I will."

"Then why don't we move into the conference room? I think we'll all be much more comfortable there." Gesturing to the others, she led them down the hall and into another space. "Please, have a seat. Mr. Wayne, my apologies for skimping on the introductions; this is Special Investigator Freedman and Detective Abaras, both with Gotham PD."

As Bruce greeted each of the new men, his suspicions mounted ever higher. _Something major has to have happened. Did that Randall bitch falsify something to make the police want to look into me personally? The only other thing I can think is that they're aware of Zucco's intentions to go after Dick, and are here to warn me about it. Still, I would think that they could have done that at the house rather than at my attorney's office, especially since leaving him home would hypothetically put him in danger. Unless these men aren't really cops…_ He peered at the badge Abaras was wearing for a moment. _No, that looks right. This is strange. _"What's this about?" he queried as they all settled into chairs. "I know our court date has been delayed, but I wasn't told why. Can anyone enlighten me?"

"Yes," Freedman nodded, reaching into a thin file. "Are you familiar with this child, Mr. Wayne?" he asked, passing over a photo. "Name of Tavon Victorino Dennison?"

The billionaire studied it carefully, masking the fact that his mind was reeling. _Tavon Victorino Dennison…TVD…the manuscript. The boy she put in the Center in Dick's place. But why are the police curious if I know him?_ "…No," he lied smoothly. "I'm not. Should I be?"

"He participated in a couple of Wayne Foundation-sponsored events for underprivileged youth over the last few years, but other than that we didn't figure you had any association with him."

"Ah…please don't take this the wrong way, but why ask in that case?"

"We wanted to make sure you weren't close to him before we gave you the bad news," Abaras cut in. "…Tavon was found dead in his cell at the Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys this morning. Your attorneys said that you're familiar with that place?"

Cold anger began to sink into Bruce's guts as he glanced between Whistler, Jones, and the investigators. "Yes," he confirmed. "I expressed my concerns to them about the fact that my child was placed there by his social worker for several days even though he committed no crime. I was assured that that was legal in spite of the fact that when my butler and I got him out of there he had been physically abused and was emotional and psychologically distraught. Wounded is more the word for it, really. We've just started to see him really open back up over the last few days." _And by 'open up,' I mean get ornery,_ he didn't add. _But kids do that, I guess. And at least he makes up for it with ski lodges on waffles, and…well…general adorableness._ "But this other boy…he's been killed?"

"Yes. By one of the inmates, a…" Freedman glanced at his paperwork, "Kevin Matthews."

"…Kevin?" the billionaire's eyes narrowed angrily. _Oh, you little son of a bitch. I'll bet that boy didn't do a damn thing to you, and you murdered him._

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"That's the boy who hit Dick when they were assigned as roommates. We had to have his head x-rayed afterwards. My family physician can provide you with documentation of all of that, and the counselor at the Center found the injury at the same time that we did. Bergman, that was her name. She can verify that he received the blow while he was locked up. _Needlessly_ locked up," he stressed.

"…And the name of your family physician?"

"Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Here, I'll get you her number." Scrolling through the contacts in his phone, he pulled up her information and slid the device across the table. "You're better off calling the work phone, she doesn't answer her cell for numbers she doesn't recognize."

"Right. Abaras?"

"I'll take care of it. Excuse me," the detective rose and exited the room, already punching digits into his own mobile.

"…What does this all mean for Dick?" Bruce asked a moment later.

"Well, it means a couple of things," Freedman answered. "But let me give you a little context first. We've already spoken with Linda Bergman; she's the one who called in the boy's death this morning. Once we got her calmed down enough to talk, she told us that Tavon shouldn't have been in the Center to begin with. She basically came right out and said that his social worker and the Director of the facility were to blame for it all. We thought she'd lost it at first, especially when we took a look at Randall's record, but then she brought up your name. There's been a fair bit of fervor around your attempts to adopt the Grayson boy, as I'm sure you know, so the big boss didn't want to just write Bergman off without checking up on it. The only reason we didn't speak with you sooner was because we were trying to figure out if putting unconvicted kids into juvenile detention was actually legal. Like you said, it is, so we can't pin her on that, but if she knew that the boys she was sticking in there were getting hurt and just kept funneling them through anyway…that sounds like negligence to me."

_Yes!_ Bruce hissed in silent triumph. _Take that, you fucking bitch._ "…It might be a bit more than that, even," he ventured carefully. _I can't tell them about the manuscript, but I __can__ tell them about the note she sent with my jacket and about what she said when we picked kiddo up from that hell hole._ "She mentioned something about rehabilitation, a program that she and the Director had come up with to…to shove boys who hadn't done anything but whom they thought were on a bad path into the Center so that they could experience prison life before they did something to earn real time. I don't know the laws, Mr. Freedman, but that doesn't sound legal to me. She said something about rehabilitation in a note that she sent me, too. I still have that if you need it. I wasn't comfortable with what she was doing, but…I'd gotten my boy out, so I tried to let it go, to move on and focus on helping him get over what she'd done to him. What she'd _let_ be done to him." He met the policeman's gaze. "She knew this other boy was going to get hurt, and Dick, too. I'm sure of it."

"…That all jives with what Bergman said," the cop shook his head. "Well, that should be enough to get search warrants, if nothing else."

"Have you spoken with Lionel, the janitor at the Center? He's aware of a lot of this, too. I don't want him to get in trouble for not saying anything, but he can also corroborate what Bergman told you."

"She mentioned him, but he's on a paid leave, according to the Director. Now, though…well, I'm starting to wonder if he _wanted_ to go on vacation. In any case, you might be asked to testify, depending on how far this goes, and your boy, too. I assume that's no problem?"

"…Mr. Freedman, I will be _delighted_ to testify against that woman. You have no idea the nightmares his time in the Center gave him. In the meantime, though…all I have is a temporary custody order. It was only good for thirty days, and that's half over. If this takes more than two weeks to wrap up…?" He trailed off and leaned forward. "They won't take him from us, will they? The courts? He's in no state to go through another sudden change like that, especially considering that he's terrified of CPS now. He's just getting settled into a routine at the house, and taking him out of it will only confuse him." He was exaggerating slightly, he knew – Dick wouldn't be happy, and he might be out of sorts at first, but so long as he wasn't put back in the Center he could likely weather a temporary separation without too much difficulty – but if a little hyperbole would help sway hearts and minds in his favor, he'd use it.

"Your attorneys can brief you on all of that," Freedman told him as he rose. "I just needed to hear what Bergman said backed up by someone else. Now that I-"

"Freedman," Abaras stuck his head back into the room. "It checks out. Dr. Thompkins is emailing her notes on Grayson's injuries to you right now, complete with the x-rays."

_Thank you, Leslie,_ Bruce thought gratefully.

"Damn. This is starting to look big," he shook his head. "Papers are going to love this one. Anyway, Mr. Wayne, you'll be hearing from the D.A.'s office, I'm sure."

"Tell them that my butler, Alfred Pennyworth, can verify virtually everything I said. He had his own encounter with Kevin, too, while I was in a meeting with Bergman and Randall. I don't know if that's useful or not, but…"

"I'll pass it along. Thank you, Mr. Wayne," he held out his hand. "I appreciate your cooperation. Sounds like we're going to get to take down a couple of scumbags, and that's the best part of the job in my book."

_I know what you mean,_ Bruce bit back as he stood and shook briskly. "Whatever I can do to help. Let me know if you need anything further, please."

"I will. Have a good day, folks."

When the police had gone, the billionaire turned back to his legal representation. "Well, I see why you didn't want to tell me about that on the phone," he commented, regaining his seat.

"We were asked not to share any details with you beforehand. This way what you said is rawer, and less likely to draw fire when this all goes to trial," Whistler replied. "It's awful. That poor child, put there for no good reason and then murdered…I hope they throw the book at the responsible parties. And _not_ just because this is a huge win for our side, either."

_Oh, just wait,_ Bruce nearly smirked. _When I hand the Commissioner that manuscript tonight, the shit's __really__ going to hit the fan._ "Is it?" he asked hopefully.

"It throws everything she's alleging about Dick's safety in your home into question, to start with. If they find proof that she was targeting him specifically, they'll have to start from scratch; a new caseworker, new interviews, new inspections."

"Can we resubmit the adoption forms at that point?" _Please. Please say yes. Don't make us live with this uncertainty any longer…_

"That probably wouldn't be advisable, at least not right at first," she explained, "but it would give your permanent guardianship application a much better chance. In the meantime, though," she smiled, "I have something for you. Please initial everywhere indicated, and sign the third page."

"…What is this?" the billionaire asked as he studied the jargon-heavy document she'd just handed him.

"A new temporary custody order. It's a bit of an upgrade from the emergency order you've got now – CPS would need a court order to remove him, short of them coming in and finding you actively abusing him – and it's good until the end of April. You'll still have to go to family court sometime in the next few weeks so that Randall's allegations and our counter arguments can be dealt with, but it should be a very quick visit. I had Judge Klein sign this for me right before lunch, and he's one of the longest-serving people currently on the family court bench. I imagine that he'll be willing to sign at least a ninety-day order after he speaks with you and Dick."

"Reset the clock," Bruce felt his eyes growing hot as he all but caressed the embossed paper. "…You know, you're worth every penny of that retainer." _And then some._

"We're not done yet," Keith said, leaning over to offer a pen. "We're going to fight until we win."

"Besides, this isn't about the money," Whistler shook her head. "This is about making sure that that sweetheart little boy who stuck to you like a shadow when you were in here last week doesn't have to worry about people like Margine Randall ever again."

_He seems determined to worry about people like her, but I'm not going to complain about there being one less on the streets to hold his attention. God, I hope she resists arrest…pepper spray is just about what her level of bitterness deserves._ "Done," he signed with a flourish. "Can I have a copy of that, please? I know a certain someone who's going to want to see it when I get home to him."

"I'll be right back with it," Keith disappeared into the hall.

"…The boy who was killed," Bruce ventured slowly. "How old was he?" _It didn't say in the manuscript._

"He was eleven, I think they said," she grimaced. "That Kevin boy…do you know how old he is?"

"…Sixteen, I think. Somewhere around there."

"Why would they put an eleven and a sixteen year old in the same room? That's asking for trouble," she shook her head. "Worse yet, a nine year old."

"He was eight at the time. He had his birthday last week." _Just a baby. If we hadn't gotten you out of there…or if you'd been taken and put back in there with him…god, it would have been you, Dicky. The police wouldn't have to tell a convict and an addict that their child had been murdered in state custody, it would be __me__ getting that news. Oh, jesus…one more day. If Kevin had waited until tonight instead of snapping last night…it could have been __my__ boy that he killed. I'm so sorry, Tavon. I'm so sorry that I couldn't figure out a way to save you from that end. But I also owe you a huge debt, something that I can never, ever repay. Thank you. Thank you so much for the sacrifice you made. And I am so, so sorry…_

"_Eight_? Oh, Mr. Wayne, I hope they lock that woman up and throw away the key," Matilda Whistler spat, a flush of ire rising into her cheeks. "And that law…I've already started asking about getting it changed, and once this thing blows open it should go quickly. I'm not letting this go," she swore valiantly. "No child deserves to spend a night in juvenile hall when they haven't done anything wrong."

He met her gaze appreciatively. "I agree. In fact, if there's any sort of financial backing needed for your push to get that section of the law rewritten, let me know."

"Shouldn't I contact the Foundation?" she asked, her expression quizzical.

"No. I'll fund that effort personally."

"You…" she gaped for a moment. "…You would do that?"

"Yes. I would. I know far too well what a few days in a place like that can do to even a strong child; I'd be honored to help support any attempt to make sure that what happened to _my_ son never happens to another child in Gotham. I don't need the Foundation to tell me that's a worthy cause. I already know it is." Standing as Keith came back with a still-warm copy of the custody order, he nodded to each of them in turn. "We'll be in touch soon, I'm sure. Until then…thank you both." With that he took his papers, turned on his heel, and left, leaving Whistler still gaping after him and Jones looking concernedly at his boss' strange expression.

He managed to withhold his massive grin until he was alone in the deserted parking garage. Climbing into the car, he plastered the temporary custody order against the steering wheel and read the most important two lines over and over again. _'Barring gross and provable negligence or abuse of the above listed ward of the state or a change in the means or willingness of the above listed guardian to fulfill his/her duties as such, this temporary custody order shall be in effect until 11:59 PM on 30 April of the current calendar year. This order is renewable and extendable as the court sees fit.'_ When his vision grew too blurry to see the words any more, he folded it into thirds with shaking hands and tucked it securely into his suit jacket.

_Another month, at least, and good prospects for a longer order after that,_ he mused, wiping his eyes. _Zucco's down, the police are onto Randall…if I can get some answers from Ralph tonight and clinch the case against your social worker, we'll have a trifecta in a twenty-four hour period. The tide's turning, kiddo. We might just win this, after all._

**Author's Note: I just want to say thank you to everyone for reading and for your amazing reviews. Your attention to this and my other stories resulted in a personal record for total views yesterday, which was a fantastic way to end the weekend. So thank you, and happy reading!**


	84. Chapter 84

As he mounted the manor steps, part of Bruce wanted to be jubilant about the thin document nestled over his heart. His uncertainty as to how Dick would react to the news about Tavon Dennison put a damper on his happiness, however, and it was with a mixed expression that he pushed into the foyer. "Alfred," he greeted, finding the butler busily plucking wet, yellow leaves from a pair of sneakers that were far too small to belong to either of them. "…What are you doing?"

"Good afternoon, Master Wayne. Or at least I sincerely hope it was," he arched an eyebrow at his elder charge's undecipherable look. "Master Dick and I just finished raking a section of the yard. It's rather shocking how much foliage the winter knocks to the ground; no matter how thoroughly one clears up at the end of the summer, there's always another layer to be collected come spring."

"…Where _is_ Dick?" Bruce queried, glancing about. _If we have a minute alone, maybe you can tell me what I should do…._

"He is upstairs changing. He was marvelously dirty after his third or fourth leap into the leaf pile."

"…You let him jump into the leaf pile? _I _was never allowed to do that," he frowned.

"My apologies, sir," the eyebrow reached higher, "but _you_ never volunteered to help _make_ said pile, and when you were coerced into doing so you weren't nearly so thorough as he was today. He earned the privilege." The butler paused. "…He's only just departed, if there was something you needed to discuss."

"You know me too well," the billionaire grimaced. "Here, read this," he added, handing over the temporary custody order.

A small but firm smile creased the older man's face as he perused it. "This is wonderful. Much better than we expected this afternoon would end with, for certain." Refolding it, he passed it back. "And yet you look troubled for some reason."

"Do you remember the other boy that was mentioned in the manuscript? TVD?"

"…Yes. Why?" Alfred asked cautiously.

"…He was assigned to Kevin's cell, and…and found dead this morning."

"Oh, good heavens, that poor child," the Englishman breathed.

"…He was eleven. Even older than Dick is, and he…he still couldn't deal with that delinquent bastard. She put him in there, and now he's dead, and…and it could have been Dick, Alfred. It could have been him _so easily_…" He closed his eyes and turned his head away sharply, fighting tears. _I can't do this now. He'll be back downstairs in a minute or two, and I don't want him to see me like this. I don't want him to jump to the wrong conclusion and think that my tears mean he's returning to that abominable bitch's care. I don't want to scare him like that, not even for a moment._ A gentle hand gripped his elbow suddenly, the rare touch startling him back nearly to dry eyes. "…Sorry."

"You've nothing to apologize for, Master Wayne," the butler soothed, his own gaze a bit misty as he pulled away. "You are correct; it could very well have been the young sir who…who was there last night rather than this other boy. But it wasn't, and _that_ is what we must focus on. He is safe in his room, and liable to be down here any moment now," he warned. "So if you need advice that you don't want him to hear, I suggest that you focus and ask me quickly."

"Right." He drew a deep breath. "They're going to want him to testify against Randall. There were investigators at the attorneys' office; once they heard me say basically the same things that Bergman told them this morning, after Tavon – that was his name, Tavon – was found, they headed out to get search warrants for Randall and the Center's Director. She's going down, Alfred, especially once Batman pays the Commissioner a little visit tonight and passes along some evidence that I'm sure they'll have gotten rid of by the time the police get in. The question is…do I tell him? And if so, how much? I could wait until they actually call us to appear in court, or I could tell him beforehand, but I don't know which is the better option. I hate to even bring her up around him, but…I don't want him to be wondering about when she's going to show up standing at the end of his bed next, either."

"With all due respect, sir, the answer to your query should be blatantly obvious." He waited for a moment, but Bruce didn't respond. "Of _course_ you must tell him, and all of it, too! You're preparing to take him out in the field with you on dangerous night missions against some of the nastiest human beings currently breathing, and yet you believe that you should still withhold information that is pertinent to the very basic situation of his life from him? No, Master Wayne, that won't do at all. You're going to have to tell him, and soon. Before bedtime tonight, I would think."

"I don't want to upset him, Alfred. Today…he was so happy this morning at breakfast, and if he was jumping in piles of leaves while I was gone he's got to be in a good mood now. Why can't he just have _one day_ where he doesn't hear any bad news or have any breakdowns?"

"Those days are quickly approaching from the sounds of things, and believe me I am just as eager to see them as you are, but imagine how he will feel if you do _not_ tell him. Did you not say just last night that he was hurt by the fact that you kept your nitric acid comparison and other information regarding the Zucco man from him?"

"…Yes," the billionaire answered begrudgingly.

"And did you not withhold that information for more or less the same reason as you're considering in this new regard? With the goal of protecting his safety?"

"…Yes, but-"

"But nothing, Master Wayne. You know he's going to learn the details sooner or later, either from you or from some other source. It is better, I believe, that _you_ tell him, and then be there to soothe his hurt, rather than run the risk of his learning the details on his own and then bottling his pain up."

…_Dick said almost that same thing before,_ Bruce remembered. _Last night, in the car on the way home. 'I wanted to talk to you so bad…but I couldn't.' If I hide this from him, too, it's like Alfred said; he'll find out, and he'll feel like I don't trust him and he can't talk to me again. Plus…well, as awful as this is, at least there's a clear silver lining. And he didn't know the boy…Tavon…so maybe it won't be as hard on him._ "…Okay," he nodded. "Okay. You win. I'll tell him."

"Well chosen, sir." A squeak of delight sounded from overhead, and they both glanced up to find Dick peeking through the banister bars. "…And well timed."

"Bruce!" The boy was downstairs in an instant, and as soon as his feet hit the floor he sped to his guardian. The man, unable to keep from grinning as he fully fathomed that he could claim the excited little figure bounding towards him for the next month at least, bent down, swept him up, and spun in a circle, reveling in the happy giggle that his action drew. "What did the lawyers say?"

"Hello to you too," the billionaire teased. "I'll tell you what the lawyers said in a minute. First, tell me about all this extra work you made Alfred do."

"…Huh?! He said I could jump in the leaves after I helped rake them up!" he protested, glancing towards the butler in consternation.

"Oh, well then I guess it's okay."

"…Bruce, you already knew that, didn't you?" the child asked slyly, an amused smile slipping across his lips.

"What makes you think so?"

"You're happy right now. If you were _really_ wondering why I made extra work for Alfred, you wouldn't have been happy when you asked."

"You don't think so?"

"No," he shook his head.

"…You're probably right."

"Is it because of what the lawyers said?"

"…You're not going to let up with that, are you?" _Guess I couldn't have kept it from you even if I'd tried. I suppose I could have talked around it, but…that wouldn't have lasted long. Damn…Alfred knows us __both__ too well, I think…_

"Well, it's important, especially since you said they wanted me there at first and then all of a sudden they _didn't_ want me. That's weird."

_Too damn smart for your own good, kiddo._ "If you want to know what the lawyers said that badly," he sent Alfred a meaningful look, "then let's go in the den and talk."

"I'll be in shortly with a light snack," the butler added. "I assume that cookies and milk are acceptable?"

"Yes, please!" the child chirped back as he was lowered to the ground. As soon as Bruce had removed his shoes and unbuttoned his suit jacket, the duo made their way down the hall and settled in on the couch. "So…was…was it good news, Bruce?" _It must be, he wouldn't be happy if it was __bad__ news._

"It was good news…for us," the billionaire phrased carefully. _I'll start with the extended custody. Maybe that will help soften the news about the other boy._ Reaching into his coat, left on specifically for this moment, he withdrew the form. "Take a look at this."

Dick studied it with narrowed eyes. "There are a lot of big words on here," he murmured.

"Do you want me to explain?"

"No! No, I want to figure it out…" He puzzled over it for a few minutes, not noticing how Bruce watched him work with masked pride. "Wait…" the crucial pieces came together in his head, "does this…does this mean that you have me for longer than you did before? 'Cause your first permission to have me was going to run out soon, right?"

"Right," Bruce nodded. "That gives us until the end of April before we have to renew it. And it's a better kind of permission, too; no one can just walk in and take you away like your social worker threatened to on Monday. They'd have to prove something against me first."

"Great!" the boy beamed, then became pensive again. "But…my social worker. She's not going to be happy. How…I mean, she wouldn't make it _harder_ on herself, would she?"

"…Margine Randall is no longer going to be your social worker." It was a bit premature to say as much with the conviction that his voice carried, but he ignored that. _She's done for once I speak to the Commissioner tonight, and she's too busy today trying to cover her ass to worry about coming after you. Besides, the new order is effective today, so she'd be shit out of luck even if she tried._

Dick's eyes widened to platters, his mouth gaping even as the corners pulled up into a somehow even broader grin than he'd worn a moment before. "…What?" he whispered, trembling with disbelief.

Bruce smirked right back at him. _You look like you're about to explode, chum,_ he chuckled to himself. _That, I'm pretty sure, would be enough for them to take you away from me, so let's not go there._ "Margine Randall," he repeated as he leaned towards him, "is no longer going to be your social worker."

"No _way_," he gasped. "…How did you scare her off?"

He laughed aloud at that, a bolt of dark pleasure going through him as he pictured Batman hovering over the petrified CPS agent with a hellish sneer. "I wish I could take responsibility for her leaving you alone from now on," he said, sobering slightly as he recalled the real reason that there was suddenly a light at the end of the tunnel. "But that belongs to someone else."

"Who? Did Superman talk to her?"

"No," Bruce scowled. "Superman had nothing to do with it." _…Although I'm not really sure why you thinking that he did bothers me so much._

"Okay, well _who_, then?!"

"The police."

"…The police? Oh! Did you give them the manuscript you found?"

…_I forgot I never told him that we couldn't figure out what to do with it. Shit._ "Ah…no. It would have made the connection between Batman and I too obvious," he explained. "But it's going to the Commissioner tonight, now that the police are already involved."

"But…without the manuscript, why are they interested?"

_Here we go,_ he steeled himself. "Dicky…do you remember how we talked about the idea that she might have put someone else into the Center after we got you out?"

"…Yeeeeah?" he answered cautiously.

"Well…she did. His name was Tavon. He was a couple of years older than you are. He's the reason the police are interested in your social worker."

"…Bruce, why are you talking about him in the past tense?" the boy asked, his voice wavering.

"Because…because he's dead, chum. Kevin…they put him in with Kevin." _I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please, please don't cry, please don't get mad at me for not saving him…_

"…Oh." He pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and stared pensively at his feet. "Kevin…Kevin killed him," he repeated slowly.

"Yes. Kevin killed him."

"…Like he was going to do to me, probably."

_No__._ "Like he'll _never_ do to you, kiddo. Not now. He's going to be in jail for a long time for this, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but he'll just keep hurting people, even though he's in jail. Just like he did Caleb, and me, and…and Tavon."

"I think they'll put him in adult jail this time. This is a serious crime."

"…Caleb killed someone, and they put him in the Center."

"Yes, but Kevin was already in the Center. They see now that that isn't enough for him." _The saddest part of this, other than the death of an innocent child, is that in a way it lends credence to Randall's theory about some people being incurable. From what I've heard about Caleb, he was sorry for his crime, rehabilitated,_ he grimaced, _if I want to stoop to using her word. Kevin…I don't know what he did to end up in juvenile detention, but there's no way they can keep him in with other minors after something like this. Giving him his own room would just be rewarding him for murder, and Dick's story about his encounters with him suggest that he has ways of getting out of where he should be in order to terrorize others._ "…No, I'm pretty sure they'll put him in with the grown-ups now."

"But he's just a kid. I mean, he's not eighteen. He could get hurt in grown-up jail." Dick paused, wrinkling his nose. "…Why am I standing up for him?"

"Because you care about what happens to him even though he hit you and committed a horrible crime."

"But _why_?"

Bruce gave him a sad smile. "…Because you're a good person, Dicky. That's why you care."

"…I just wish he didn't have to be like that. So mean, and angry. What if he's a nice guy underneath, and there's just…all this anger and stuff on top of it, so no one sees? Can't…can't somebody get to the _good_ Kevin? He's got to be in there somewhere, doesn't he? Doesn't…doesn't everyone have that, at least a little?"

"I really, really hope so, chum," he replied, something twisting in his chest at the sight of the pleading hope in the pointed pixie face. "But," he went on softly, "now you don't have to worry about your social worker any more, and the lawyers said there's a good chance that this will make it a lot easier to get everything figured out."

"…Yeah. I'm glad," the boy went on quickly. "I really am, Bruce. I'm glad that she's in trouble, and that I get to stay with you. But…I wish no one else had to get hurt for that to happen. He shouldn't…he shouldn't have had to die for someone to pay attention." A few faint tears appeared on his cheeks, and Bruce slid closer.

"I know," he soothed, wrapping an arm around him. "I know. You're right; it should never have gone this far. But there was nothing more you could have done to prevent it. I want you to remember that, okay? It's important."

"I know. I remember what you said before, about…about how sometimes not even Batman can stop bad things from happening. But Bruce…are you going to go after her?"

"No. Once the Commissioner has the manuscript, that won't be needed. Besides that, Robin," he reminded him, "is grounded. Remember?"

"…I know. I just…I was just hoping that you could make sure she didn't get away with it."

"She won't," he squeezed him. "I promise you, she won't."

"Good."

"…There's one other thing, Dick," Bruce ventured when the child had had a few minutes to collect himself.

"What's that?"

"They might need you to tell a court what your social worker did to you. The things she said, how she treated you, everything. You'd have to get up on the stand, possibly in front of a lot of people, and answer questions. And she would be in the room," he warned. "She wouldn't be able to hurt you, but she'd be able to see you, and you'll be able to see her. Do you think you can do that? Talk about all of the bad things she let happen to you in front of a bunch of strangers?"

_Umm…_ he mused without speaking. _I don't know. I mean, I'm used to crowds, but…I've never talked in front of them, just performed. And I can't really practice ahead of time like I could with a routine, because I don't know what kind of questions they'll have. But if it will help put her in jail so she can't hurt anyone else, then… That other boy, Tavon, he died so that she'd finally get caught. Even if he didn't know that was going to happen, at least something good came out of what he went through. But if I don't do this, they could let her go. I can't let that happen. _"…Would you be there, too?" he asked. "Where…where I could see you?"

"Absolutely." _I can't imagine the court having a problem with that, especially considering the situation. So long as everyone can see that I'm not giving you any signs or anything about what to say, there's really no room for an objection to be made._

Dick stared down at his feet for a moment more, then straightened and looked the man beside him straight in the eye. "If you'll be there," he offered bravely, "I can do it. I can answer their questions, and tell them all the awful things that she said, even…even the 'G' word," his expression pinched. "I'll talk. I'll talk because…because I don't want her to be found not guilty. Then she'd go free, and Tavon would still be…dead. And that would be so wrong, Bruce."

The billionaire bent down and pressed their foreheads together. "…Thank you. That will really help, chum. It really, _really_ will. And I'm sure Tavon would appreciate what you're willing to do to make sure that he didn't die in vain."

"…You think so?"

"Yeah. I do."

"…I'm glad."

"Me, too," he whispered back.

"…Cookies, sirs?" came a few seconds later, the question pushing them apart. Alfred had been hovering outside and waiting for the proper moment, and now entered with a platter bearing six of the sugary circles he'd made the night before to send the boy with were the worst to have happened in court. Two tall glasses of milk stood beside them, and after he'd set everything where it needed to be he brushed his hands against one another, removing invisible dust. "These should hold you until dinner," he commented, purposefully not mentioning either the reddened determination in his younger charge's eyes or the stunned, grateful gleam in those of the elder. "I daresay you'll like this batch. I put twice the chocolate chips in." _Extra calories,_ he added to himself. _Just in case you needed them. Which you would have, seeing as how you need them even with three meals a day going into your stomach._

"Thanks, Alfred," Dick said, giving him a tiny smile as he reached for one. "You're right," he added after the first bite. "These are really, really good."

"I'm glad you like them, young sir," he nodded. "…Master Wayne?"

"I'll start in on them in a minute," he assured him. "I'm just whetting my appetite, that's all." _And thinking about how much more unpleasant of a place he nearly ended up eating them in than here…Fuck! Pull yourself together, Bruce; he's fine. He's right here._

"Be sure you get to them soon, if you please," the butler requested. "Your dinner will be ready in just over two hours. In the meantime, there is supposed to be a series of samurai films on channel…37, I believe. Yes, that was it. Just in case you're interested."

"Samurai movies?" Dick cocked his head.

"…You've never seen a samurai movie?" Bruce looked immediately intrigued.

"I don't think so, no. We didn't really watch TV or anything, before. Are they good?"

"If they're on channel 37, they're amazing. You want to watch one before dinner, see what you think?"

"…Amazing?"

"Yes."

"Okay," the child nodded. "That sounds good. I'm kind of sore from raking anyway, I don't really want to move." With that, he took his second cookie from its spot on the plate and, holding it in one hand, curled up against his guardian. A protective arm immediately came down over him. "Plus, maybe it will help me feel better about what happened to Tavon."

The billionaire winced. "…Yeah, Dicky. I bet it will. Good samurai movies always distract me, at least. Although…there's usually at least _some_ killing in them. Is that going to be okay with you?"

"…You're not going anywhere, right?"

"No. I'll be right here."

"Okay. I think I'll be alright, then."

As he backed slowly from the room, Alfred felt a bittersweet smile slip across his lips. _There you are,_ he thought approvingly. _A good talk, cookies and a movie to help the topic digest a bit more easily, and one another's companionship. If I refilled your refreshments indefinitely, would you ever move again?_ A heavy but content sigh escaped the other man as the initial credits came up on screen, and the Englishman finally turned away. _No, sirs, I don't imagine that you would. Not so long as the other remained at your side._

**Author's Note: As a heads-up, I will be taking a vacation beginning in a few days, and during my absence from home I will not be posting updates. I will post one more chapter of Firework tomorrow, and then you can expect to see the story resume on the 11th of July. I will also be getting the third chapter of 'Sometimes, the Pain' out before I go, for those of you following that story. After my return, my plan is to try and transition into posting only five days a week, probably Tuesday through Saturday, so that I have a little more time to work on my original fiction. I will continue to write Spark in the Dark and other Batman stories, I'm just only promising five chapters a week for a while. In any case, thank you all for your continued support, and happy reading!**


	85. Chapter 85

"…Are you going to work tomorrow?" Dick queried sleepily as he was tucked into bed that night. There had, in fact, been a legitimate series of samurai films on television, and after dinner the pair had returned to the den to while away the early evening with tales of honor and revenge. The boy had proven as eager a viewer as his guardian, looking past the death scenes to lodge curious questions about the culture that had inspired such a cinematic outpouring, and Bruce had answered with equal gusto. Only when Alfred had come in to remind them of the late hour had they forced themselves to stop so that bed and patrol times could be observed.

"Yes. I have a few things to wrap up before the weekend." _A few dozen things,_ he corrected himself in his head. _Half of which I won't even get a chance to look at unless I stay late, which I really don't want to do. _"…Would it hurt your feelings if I brought some things home with me to work on before Monday?"

"No, but…can I be in the study at the same time as you are? I'll be quiet," he added. "I'll just read, I promise."

_Well, he didn't bug me the last time I did paperwork while he read,_ the billionaire considered. "Sure. I don't think that will be a problem."

"Mmkay…Bruce?" he mumbled, his eyes all but closed.

"What is it, chum?"

"You gonna talk…to Ralph?"

"Yes." _Although I'd rather just lay down here beside you and pass out._

"…Gonna…tell me what he says, right?"

"Absolutely." _ I just hope that I can tone down anything really awful that he might tell me, or keep it from you entirely. I understand wanting details about why your parents were killed, but if there __was__ something sketchy going on with Haly's…I don't want to tarnish your opinions of those people. You need as many happy memories as you can get, and I'm not exactly skilled at creating them._

"Yay…"

The small voice trailed off into sleep, and for a long moment the man just watched him. _…I'm not really comfortable leaving you alone, never mind asleep, until I speak to Ralph Zucco and make sure that there isn't still a plan in place for Tony's men to come after you. __I__ can't stay, obviously, so that leaves Alfred._ Brushing a hand over dark hair and giving the pajama-clad arm that stuck above the covers a light squeeze, he rose and made his way across the hall to his own room. "…Alfred," he intoned into the intercom.

"Yes, Master Wayne?" came back swiftly.

"Are you in the middle of something?"

"No, sir. Nothing I can't settle into again later, at least. Is there something you require?"

"Yeah. Can you come upstairs?"

"Of course. I'll be there momentarily."

Bruce was leaning in the child's open doorway when the butler arrived. "He went out like a light," the younger man said over his shoulder.

"I'm hardly surprised. He was out very late last night, came home to a tongue-lashing, and then had a rather trying day today, what with your decision on Robin and the news from the Center. I expected him to fall asleep during one of your movies, to be honest."

"I think he almost did on the last one. In any case…I don't want him left alone, but I need to get the manuscript to Gordon and then talk to Zucco. Could you…?"

"You'd like me to sit with him during your absence?"

"Yes."

"Of course, Master Wayne. It will be an opportunity to brainstorm ways to upgrade his Robin costume to something more battle-appropriate. I'll need your opinion on it before I purchase anything, naturally, but if he's only banned from downstairs for two weeks I'd best get a move on."

"He's got a lot of training to do before he goes out again," the billionaire said firmly. "He scraped by on pure luck and raw talent last night, but there's no way that will happen again. Still," he sighed, "he's so quick that it'll probably only take him a few months at the most to get to a level where I really won't have a good reason to refuse him field time."

"Agreed," the Englishman nodded. "I do have one question about his outfit, since we're on the subject."

"What is it?"

"Armor. Do you intend for him to have any? I know it seems like a silly question, but-"

"No," Bruce shook his head. "It's reasonable. With his skills…he needs to be able to move quickly and easily, more so than does anyone else I've encountered. His tactics aren't going to be like mine, and his clothes already aren't, so...I hate to say this, Alfred, but we may have to forgo armor for him. Could we even find it that small if we wanted to?"

"It's technically obtainable, but it will raise some eyebrows, to say the very least. Still, sending him out without _any_…it feels foolish, even with your very good point about his strength being his ability to move quickly and fluidly. Hmm…this seems like it may be a question that will best be answered by the young master himself. If you'd like, I can go about procuring the main pieces for someone of his size in order to allow him to test his range of motion with it on."

"…Let's do that." _If I have to take him out on patrol without armor, _he shuddered,_ we're going to be doing a __lot__ of work with evasion and directional changes. He should already be pretty good at the second part, but I'm not going to let him face bullets with nothing more than trapeze tricks._ There was plenty more than fighting moves that would need addressed too, he knew. _He'll need to memorize the city, the known criminals and their M.O.s, information about weapons, chemicals, emergency first aid…a million different things. I guess I'm going to have to come up with lesson plans for all of that, drills, tests, the works. I have no idea if I'm even any good at teaching…shit. Well, there's not much we can do except try, and hope that I'm not too bad at it. I know he's a good student, so any fault won't be on his end, that's for sure._

"Very good. You are leaving for the evening, I presume?"

"Yes. I should be with the police most of the night; I won't patrol unless I can't get in to talk to Ralph Zucco."

"I wish you luck. Having answers won't do the young master any harm, and may do a great bit of good."

"…I hope so, Alfred. Listen," he added, "if he has a nightmare…"

"I'm aware of the procedure, sir," the butler said with the faintest trace of amusement at his elder charge's worry.

"…Right." Casting a final look towards the unmoving lump under the blanket, he turned towards the stairs. "I'll see you later."

"Indeed, Master Wayne. Until your return..."

In the cave, Bruce changed pensively, his mind whirling as he tried to organize all of the things he wanted to ask Ralph Zucco. _Tony's plans for Dick and whether or not they're still in place, that's the main point,_ he mused as he headed towards a computer, dressed in his suit but still sans cowl. _Beyond that, why the circus? Why the Graysons? What use could that possibly have been to men who move illegal chemicals in bulk? No one is going to mistake a barrel of nitric acid for a bushel of elephant fodder. Everything else comes second to those pieces of information; those, I __have__ to get. Especially the first one,_ he grimaced.

While he knew that Alfred would put himself between the boy and any potential harm without so much as a moment's thought, he still felt as if he were leaving the house and her occupants undefended. _But I'm pretty hard pressed to talk to Zucco if I don't go, and that's the only way I'll know whether or not it's safe to let kiddo out of my sight. Besides, there's __this__ little matter, _he thought, copying Randall's manuscript and the evidence he'd found to suggest that she was targeting boys of a certain look and background onto a non-descript jump drive. _Digital transmissions can be erased. I don't want there to be any way for the police to claim that they never got this information; if I hand it directly to the Commissioner, there won't be._

As he bent down to extract the external memory, the Zeta tube sounded behind him. _…Clark. Tonight of all nights. _

"I thought I might still catch you in if I hurried."

"…What do you want?" the billionaire asked, straightening.

"Bruce, _please_ tell me you aren't this brusque with Dick. I know you weren't the other night, but then you didn't used to be with me, either."

_Of course I don't speak to him like this. He's my child, and you're…annoying me, for some reason._ "That's not really any of your business."

"Oookay, I'm just going to assume you had a long day, then." The Kryptonian paused. "I saw that you got Zucco. How did Dick take it?"

"With a batarang," he replied drily.

"…Wait, what?"

"You asked how Dick took it. I answered. I don't see where the gap in your understanding could be."

"First of all, I know you have every reason in the world to hate the man's guts, but referring to him as 'it' seems a little extreme, even for you. Second…you mean Dick was _there_ when you caught the person who killed his parents?"

"Robin was present, yes. Without permission, but…"

"But what?"

"…He did well. Very well."

"_You let him fight?!"_

"I didn't know he was there until halfway through the mission. I couldn't exactly stop, take him home, and then fly around the world a few times to give myself another chance," Bruce snarked. _…Why am I mad at you? I could see it being from the fact that you seem kind of pissed about Robin having had a hand in getting Zucco, but that doesn't feel right. Huh._

Superman dropped into the desk chair beside him and crossed his arms. "I think there's a lot more to this story than you're letting on," he stated. "…I'd, ah, appreciate it if you filled me in."

"For the second time tonight, it's none of your business."

"…Look, Bruce, you know I'm not one to intrude into people's personal lives, but…it kind of _is_ my business. If you're thinking of bringing in a partner – a _child_ partner, at that – as anything more than radio assistance, it could affect the League. We both know that that makes it my business."

"Robin won't be starting field work for some time," he rebutted.

"Well no, I figured you'd be training him first," the Kryptonian shot back knowingly.

The billionaire threw him an annoyed glance. _Damn it. _"…Obviously," he ground out.

"But he's no dummy. That will take…what, three months, maybe four? I'm guessing that by the time school starts he'll be done training, even under your no doubt rigorous program."

"Training isn't something that gets _done_. It's an ongoing process."

…_There's more going on here than what I'm seeing. You seem both pleased and extremely worried at the same time. _"What's _really_ irking you, Bruce? Why don't you want to tell me about this? I'd think you'd be glowing right now; not only does he want to do what you do, but he's already taken down the man who murdered his family? If anything could earn someone a gold star in your book, that would have to be it. So where's the paternalistic pride?"

"I have a lot to do tonight. You're holding me up."

"You were looking at a blank desktop when I came in," Superman tapped the top of the computer monitor nearest to him.

"I had closed the items I was looking at prior to that," he responded, a silky 'drop-it' tone underlining his words.

_He's getting ticked, but…I feel like he's holding something back. Like he __wants__ to talk, and he's just…not letting himself do it, for some reason._ "What were you looking at?" he pushed. "Something for a new case, or…?"

"…Clark, why are you more stubborn than a goddamn mule when it comes to getting me to tell you things that are of no use to you?"

"The mules were my responsibility growing up. If I wanted them to do anything, I _had_ to be more stubborn than they were," the blue-clad man joked. "As for getting you to tell me things…it's good for you. Besides, you know I'll never tell."

"You won't have to. It will probably be sliding across your news desk tomorrow morning," Bruce muttered.

"…I already know about Zucco," Superman frowned.

_Ah, hell. _"…I wasn't talking about Zucco," he allowed, fed up with the gentle cajoling of the other man. "I was talking about Margine Randall."

"His social worker, right?"

"…Yeah." _Why did you remember that? I know you liked him on Sunday – how could anyone __not__ like him? – but why was that knowledge important enough to you for it to be retained? It isn't as if you've written anything about us since Sunday. _

"She's still giving you trouble? Why?"

"…It's a long story."

"My schedule isn't exactly packed. Go for it," he leaned back, crossing his legs.

_Big blue mule,_ Bruce groused, then conceded with a sigh. "Fine." He moved through the tale chronologically, beginning with the last time they had seen each other and working up to the present. _…I should be glad that you're so interested in this,_ he puzzled as he drew to the end of his story, _but…I'm not. I'm angry about it. I don't know why, though. Well, whatever; I'll think about that later. There's enough going on right now._ "…So that's what's on this," he held up the jump drive. "That bitch's manuscript, and a few other items. I was on my way to take it to the Commissioner when you walked in. He has Ralph Zucco in his custody, as well, and I need to speak with him."

"That's…you've had one hell of a week," the Kryptonian shook his head. "And Dick, too. Wow. But…you said that neither you nor Alfred could figure out how to turn in that evidence on the CPS lady until now?"

"Yeah," a bit of challenge shone through the single syllable. "There was no way to do it even remotely safely. Now, though, with the police already involved, there's no reason for Batman _not_ to investigate."

"…Bruce, why didn't you just call me? I mean…this is the sort of thing that Lois and I subsist on. We could have helped _days_ ago." _Maybe even have kept that boy from dying,_ he didn't think it prudent or kind to add. _You're so bad at asking for help sometimes, even from people you trust. Well…that you ostensibly trust. Some days it's hard to tell if you trust __anyone__, yourself included._

The billionaire snorted. "It would have been the same problems as if I took it in, Clark. The records for my custody case are still sealed, since it's ongoing; even if they weren't, what reason would a reporter from Metropolis have to look at them? The _Gotham_ media has dropped to recycling the same two or three stories, although I'm sure that will change as soon as they announce Randall's arrest. That makes it pretty hard to swallow the idea that an out of town publication would be interested not only in Dick and I, but specifically in the time between the night of the circus and when he came here. Plus, what she's been doing isn't technically illegal in this city, so there's not even a good crime angle there, at least not yet. Supposing that you somehow came up with a plausible reason that didn't involve me whining to you because we know each other, since using that as the excuse would be asking for the people who make figuring out who Batman and Superman are their life's work to connect two more dots in the picture we never, _ever_ want them to complete, where does that get you? Right back to square one, and just as frustrated as I was."

He lifted one hand and began to tick off fingers. "You can't let yourself be tied any more closely to Superman than the world already thinks you are just with your 'exclusive interviews,' so there's no way for him to have flown to the Center and picked up the manuscript for you. Even if you _could _say that, what sort of evidence would you even have had to send him there, with the records sealed and me being unwilling to talk since it could out us a little more? I hacked the CPS databases to get the stuff on the other kids, but you can't admit to that. And that's another problem in and of itself; the manuscript and digital documents would have been procured more or less illegally. I get away with it because in situations like this I funnel things in through the Commissioner, but you don't have the contacts to do that, and he has no working relationship with you on which to base his trust in anything you present to him. You couldn't even just blow it all open on the front page, because the documents were _still_ gotten incorrectly. I'd find myself suddenly giving J'onn a suitcase full of money so he could disguise himself as someone else and bail your ass out. _Then_ there's the issue of-"

"Okay, I get it," Superman held up his hands. "Maybe you're right. But…I still would have liked the opportunity to help."

"…Why?" Bruce gave him an odd look.

"…Bruce, you're a genius in many ways, but social interaction is _not_ one of them," the Kryptonian lamented, tilting his head back in mild exasperation. "In any case, what matters now is that it's starting to come together. Zucco _and_ Randall." He stood slowly. "…Thank you for telling me all of that. I appreciate it. I know you're in a hurry to get going, and now that I understand why that is I'll get out of your way. But…I don't suppose he's still awake? Dick? I'd like to see him, if he is. He said he'd show me his Robin costume."

"It's being retrofitted for his…ah…upcoming role," the billionaire's mouth tightened.

"Oh. Well…when he's not grounded anymore and his costume's done, you should bring him by the mountain."

"…What? That's absurd."

"No it isn't. The others have a right to meet him, I think, if he's going to be working with you regularly."

"…I don't want his existence to be known."

"Well, unless his cape turns him invisible, I wish you luck with that."

"I meant I don't want his existence known until it's absolutely necessary. There are too many people out there who are already going to take advantage of his youth."

"Sure. And I agree, keep him from the villains' radar for as long as you possibly can. But Bruce, we're your allies, and that makes us _his_ allies, too. None of us are going to 'take advantage of his youth.' If anything, we're going to want to help you get him ready and keep him safe. It's win-win." With that, he clapped him on the shoulder briefly and headed for the Zeta tube. "…Just think about it, okay? He's already met me; he should meet the others, too. It's only fair."

"…Clark." _No, this is crazy…why would I ask him to do this? But…it's Dick's safety, and Alfred's, too. I know he'll say yes, it's just…I hate asking him for favors, god damn it._

"Hmm?" the Kryptonian turned back.

"I…I'd prefer not to leave him alone in the house with just Alfred. If Zucco's men tried something, I'll be too far to help."

"I'll stay."

"I didn't mean-" he backtracked. _Yes I did. That's exactly what I meant. Stay and watch over him for me so I can make sure he's safe._

"Bruce, it's no crime to ask a friend for a favor. And I don't mind; in fact, I'd kind of like to take a look at that manuscript. I'll run and get some civilian clothes from the mountain so that it isn't so obvious if I _am_ needed upstairs." As he prepared to step into the Zeta tube, the billionaire's voice stopped him once more.

"…Clark. I…um…" His mouth worked unhappily, trying to form itself around a pair of small words.

"Stop. It's okay," he smiled. "You don't have to thank me, honestly." And then he took another stride, punched in coordinates, and vanished.

…_He won't take long._ With everything else ready, he went to the cowl, awaiting its owner expectantly on its stand. Just before he dropped the garment over his face, he cast a glance in the direction that the other man had gone. _Thank you, Clark. Thank you for helping me protect him. It…I…well. _His headgear fell into place and was tugged down sharply. _Thanks._

**Author's Note: Okay, all, I'm leaving you here until the 11th, when we'll learn what Ralph Zucco has to say for himself and Tony. I hope to see you all then. The third chapter of 'Sometimes, the Pain' will be posted either tomorrow or Friday. Happy reading!**


	86. Chapter 86

"Commissioner."

"I _hate_ it when you do that," Jim Gordon lamented when he'd recovered from the startle the figure in the shadows of his office had given him. _I could shine a lamp into every corner of this room, and I swear you would still find some way to sneak up on me. It's ridiculous._ "Let me guess; Ralph Zucco?"

"Correct."

"He's been completely silent thus far, so I don't know how much luck you'll have with him. He was exactly where you said he'd be last night. We got him in the Gotham yards." He paused. "Listen, the Feds took over on Tony's case. I don't have any control over that anymore. But Ralph…if you can get him to talk, to give us something that they can use against his brother, they're willing to deal with him. What we've managed to learn from a couple of their workers and from previous investigations suggests that Tony's the big fish here, not Ralph. If we have to let one walk in order to put the other away for good, I'll consider it close enough to real justice."

_If Ralph had anything to do with the Graysons' deaths, I __won't__ consider that justice,_ the vigilante grimaced silently. _But for now it's the answers, not what's done with them afterwards, that matter. _"Fine. Where is he?"

"I had them bring him here from Central earlier this evening," the other man stood up from his desk and led the way to the door. "I figured you would stop in, which only makes it more embarrassing that you caught me off guard. He's over in the high security section. They've got a big enough network that we thought someone might try and stage a breakout."

"Mm." The fact that the police had been worried about a potential rescue attempt by the Zuccos' goons was almost enough to make Batman glad that there were two very capable people watching Dick during his absence. _Even if one of them does happen to be Clark,_ he thought darkly as they descended to the basement levels of the building. _Damn it, what is it with that? I don't usually seethe when I think of him, but lately…_

"Zucco," the sound of the Commissioner greeting his prisoner snapped him out of his musing. "You have a visitor."

The disheveled man who had sprinted ignobly from the fertilizer factory some twenty-four hours earlier levered himself up from the rough bunk against one wall and came forward, crossing his arms as he halted a few inches from the bars. "…Batman. I wondered how long it would take for you to show up."

When the black-clad figure didn't respond, Gordon went on. "…Will you speak with him? Any information you give us could lead to a reduction in the charges leveled against you."

The criminal glanced over. "You still have the power to make those kinds of deals in my case?"

"I do, yes."

"…I want any and all charges reduced to misdemeanors, and I don't want to serve more than eighteen months total jail time."

"I can't guarantee that without hearing what you have to say, but if you give us good information I'll see what I can do."

Zucco considered that for a long moment. "…Yeah. Okay. I'll talk."

"You'd turn on your brother that easily?" Batman queried in a low voice. _Despicable, or brilliant. They may have planned for this contingency long ago; if Ralph spills everything and gets a light sentence, he can keep things running while Tony's in jail. It's either that, or he's a real snake in the grass._

"Look, if this was just about the family business, I wouldn't breathe a word. But Tony's been funny since we came to Newtown. He's been on a power trip, and it got out of hand. I knew it would, but I stuck with him because he's my brother. That doesn't mean I have to do jail time for him. I know what you're thinking," he went on. "You're wondering if this is all going to become some sort of fratricidal revenge story when Tony finally gets out. It won't, though. It won't because he's not getting out for a long time – I know what he's been into, and they're gonna throw the book at him – and because he'll understand. Better one of us free than neither, you know? No…he'll understand that. I'll talk. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

Those words were sufficient impetus for an interrogation room to be called for, and some five minutes later the crook and the crime fighter were watching one another across a blank table. _…Why the circus? Why the Graysons? _sat on the edge of Batman's tongue. He restrained himself, not wanting to reveal the importance of those questions so early in the game. _If I lead off with that, it could draw too close of a connection between Dick and I. We can't afford that, especially not now that things are finally starting to look up. I have to get answers for him without compromising his safety or my identity._ "You said Tony's on a power trip. Explain," he began.

Ralph stretched languorously in his chair. "…This was all his idea to start with. Selling the chemicals, the ties to terrorist organizations, all of it. I didn't mind at first. The bit of extra income we were getting from those early sales on the side was nice. It let us feel like more than just fertilizer makers, you know? Later on, when the time came, we were able to put our mother in a really nice home down in Florida. She loved it there. We couldn't have done that for her if we hadn't had the chemical distribution going on. I'm glad we could make her comfortable in the last years of her life. She deserved it.

"Anyway, it was Tony's scheme. I ran the numbers, but he's the schmoozer. He's got a touch I don't, knows when to push and when to backpedal, all of those used car salesman's techniques. He got us out of some tight corners back in the day, let me tell you. He's the one who decided we should go big-league and start selling to the organized assholes. That was stupid, really, especially since 9/11, but he made it work. Every time someone got close to blowing the whistle, he'd know, and he'd take care of it. We'd move, or a couple of people would disappear…he had his ways. I didn't ask. I didn't want to know.

"He never planned on coming this far east. We just ended up inheriting that plant in Newtown from an uncle, and things went from there. Tony thought it was the perfect opportunity to take the supply gig to the next level. Frankly, I figured we'd gotten as big as we were going to get with that – I mean, even the international market for illicit chemicals is only so big, and when he said he wanted to keep our old plant open along with the new one I knew it was more supply than there was demand – but he wouldn't listen. He figured it out pretty quick once we got here, though. That was part of the reason he shipped some of the old hands in from back home; this is a bigger, newer factory, and when he realized there weren't enough orders to make it worth the risk of running two operations he transitioned everything here.

"The thing is, Tony's never been one to just be happy with what he has, and on top of that he got it into his head that he couldn't be caught. After twenty years, I think he was getting bored. He wanted more challenges, higher stakes, bigger rewards. That's why he wanted two plants going at once. It just so happened that he had to give up on that around the same time that Quindley stuck his nose into things, and that gave Tony an idea. If he'd already saturated the chemicals market, then it was time to take on other illicit fields, and where better to start than with an established criminal network? Quindley's move gave Tony a glimpse of the Newtown underground, and suddenly he just _had_ to own the whole fucking city.

"I didn't think he could do it. He's good, but taking over an entire town like that? Well…I underestimated him. I think they all did. I don't mind admitting that it made me kind of proud to see how he did it. I knew he was ruthless, but I'd never seen him so on top of things before. I just stood back, certain that something had to go bad, but it didn't. Before I knew it he had the place under his thumb, with Quindley and the other three he let live kowtowing. It was a relief once it seemed to be over; I thought that maybe, _maybe,_ he finally had enough to keep him busy. Maybe he'd quit taking risks, settle back down with the chemicals and all his new little side projects, and just let everything flow. He had it set up so nice. But not Tony. He's too damn restless, always tinkering with shit when it's working fine. That's how he landed us in this fucking quagmire; he just _had_ to try and drag that stupid-ass circus into everything."

_The circus,_ Batman's attention was piqued. "What did they have to do with anything? You had the means to move your chemicals, so what good were they to you?"

"Oh, yeah, Tony had the chemicals all set up to move on the trains. There was no problem with that. But he's never been good at saying no to a new project, like I said, and one of our – excuse me, _his, _I want it made clear that I was just the numbers man – main buyers approached him with a proposition a few months ago. You see, selling and delivering chemicals is great, but they don't usually just go boom by themselves. That takes hands, and this particular buyer was having issues getting his hired fingers to the places he wanted to use his raw materials. He needed some way to move people in and out of the country without raising any eyebrows while also giving them a verifiable backstory, something that they could write down once they were here to help them disappear into the proverbial melting pot. It was a pretty generous offer, at half a million for each successful transfer, but the question was how the hell to pull it off.

"We couldn't just say they worked for the plants. There was no question what sorts of things these guys were coming in to do, and being associated with them after they'd either been caught or had succeeded in blowing themselves and others to shreds in some public place didn't seem like a very good tactic. Tony's railroad connections were already stretched pretty thin just with moving the chemical shipments, so that wasn't an option, either. What we needed was a highly unregulated business that wasn't made up of a bunch of white-bread Americans and that could regularly cross the borders – any border, hypothetically – without looking suspicious. We hashed it over again and again, and it finally got to the point that I thought he might actually give up trying to figure out something that would work. Then that caravan came through town, and I swear I saw the bulb go on over his head."

"…He wanted to use the circus to move _people_?"

"Yeah. It was a stroke of genius, really. I mean, think about it; traveling circuses go back and forth between countries all the time. Haly's just finished up a European tour less than two years ago, and according to what Tony found on them they swing up into Canada at least once a year. People go in and out of those types of acts, transferring from one to another, settling down in a likely-looking town, et cetera, all the time, or at least that's what it sounded like when he was explaining all of this to me. As if that weren't enough, a lot of them aren't American to start with, and there's so much shit that has to be checked at the borders, what with all of the animals, equipment, and people traveling together, that it's a lot more likely that the guards won't look too in-depth. Especially with a group like Haly's that crosses relatively frequently, you know? There's just too much paperwork involved.

"Once we had that sorted out it was just a matter of convincing the director. Tony offered him a quarter million for each person he successfully transported under the guise of working for his circus. You see, it wasn't about the money at that point, not for Tony. He just wanted the challenge of orchestrating something like that. As for Haly, neither one of us saw how he could possibly say no; it was obvious that his people weren't staying in Hiltons or anything. But he refused the first time our guys approached him, so we sent them back again. I figured he had to change his mind; his people needed that money, you only had to look at them out of costume to tell that. I didn't want to force it on him if he refused again – there are other circuses, we could have felt around for one of those – but Tony didn't want to wait. He wanted _this_ group. He gave our boys the order to threaten the old man, to _make_ him comply, but it still didn't work. They scared the shit out of him, but he didn't give in.

"I should have known he wouldn't let it rest. Like I said, this was part of his power trip. I didn't see that at the time, and that was my fault. Maybe if I had I could have stopped him. He's the one who planned that whole thing with the acrobats; I had _nothing_ to do with that, and I want that known. All I knew about it was that he said he wanted to make sure Haly didn't talk to the police about the offer we'd made him. Frankly I didn't see where that was a concern, since our guys were under strict orders not to let anyone know who they worked for and not to give out too many details until an agreement had been reached, but he wanted to make sure. I told him to just let it be, that we'd find someone else to do it. But he didn't listen, again. Dumb bastard." He gave a slight chuckle, shaking his head. "Should have listened to me. Every time we get in a jam, it's because he didn't fucking _listen_."

"…Why did he target the Graysons?" Batman asked when Ralph was silent for a long moment. "Were they aware of the offer that had been made?"

"I don't think so. I didn't know what Tony had told the boys to do until it was done. But I didn't have to ask why he'd done it, or why he targeted them. He did it because he couldn't stand being told no, and because he thought he might still have a chance at getting Haly to give in."

"…He'd already refused twice."

"Sure. But both of those times he still had his headline act to rely on. They weren't raking in the dough, but the circus was managing to make ends meet, and _that_ was why he had the confidence to refuse. With the kid in the mix, Haly wouldn't have been wrong to think that things could only get better. People like to see kids do amazing things, and from what I heard he was pretty damn good on that trapeze. No, Haly had a cash cow that was just starting to emerge from the wings; he didn't need our money as much as we'd thought he did, and he was smart enough to realize as much when we approached him. But without that act…without the Graysons…he'd have a half-rate show at best. Tony saw that, and moved to take them out of the equation. With them gone, Haly would either have to try and limp along financially or agree to the deal."

_Numbers,_ the vigilante growled. _That's all he saw. Numbers, and a chance for revenge. The fact that they were a happy young family who had never hurt anyone didn't even enter into his mind. Son of a bitch. _A worrisome idea tickled the back of his mind. "…Did Haly fold after that?" _Say no. I don't know how I'll break the news to Dick if his parents died only to have Haly shrug off his morals afterwards._

"Hell, no. Tony tried again before the circus left, and Haly had a couple of his freaks keep our men from even getting close to him. Killing those people didn't make him reconsider; it just made him angry. Maybe if the kid had died, too," he didn't catch the way the man opposite him's lips clamped into a tight line at that, "he would have had better luck. But the circus rolled out of here as honest as it had come in.

"The thing about it is, if they'd been on the Newtown side of the line no one would have raised an eyebrow. Tony'd have made sure of that. But he didn't check first, and he screwed us. I about smacked him upside the head when I heard that they'd been parked in Gotham jurisdiction. I should have left then, but…he's my brother. If there was some way to get him out of the mess he'd made, I wanted to help. Once I heard _you_ were involved…shit, I should have run then, too. But it's done now, I guess."

_Haly's clean. Good. _"…The boy. Did Tony try to go after him again?"

Ralph gave him a long look, then shifted his gaze to the mirror behind him. "I won't talk about ongoing operations without guarantee of immunity," he announced. "I had nothing to do with any of it after the first attempt to convince Haly failed, and that's how I want it recorded."

'_Ongoing operations,'_ the eyes behind the cowl's lenses widened. _He's still after Dick. Damn it, I shouldn't be here…_

The intercom line opened, letting the Commissioner speak from the observation room. "If the child is in danger and you give us information that helps neutralize the threat, I'll get the D.A. to ignore any non-felony crimes that you may have been a part of since the night of the Graysons' murders. Deal?"

Zucco turned back to Batman. "…I want immunity from you, too."

"…What?"

"Immunity. I want to know that you aren't going to come after me personally for _any_ of this."

"You've been arrested and will be charged with crimes as the justice system sees fit. Unless you commit another offense after this, I have no reason to go after you, provided that you serve your punishment as it's handed down to you." _I'm not making that guarantee for your brother. He'd better hope that they keep him in jail until the day he dies._

"…Okay. The Grayson boy." He paused, then launched into the part of his story that most concerned the man across from him. "Let me put it this way; that is one _lucky_ fucking kid."


	87. Chapter 87

…_He watched his parents be ruthlessly murdered, was torn away from the only other people in the world he knew and given into the care of a sadistic social worker who had no qualms about subjecting him to physical and emotional abuse, and has had very little other than trouble in every other realm of life outside of the house. In what way is any of that __lucky__?_ Batman scoffed mentally. "…Explain."

"Tony was _pissed_ that he wasn't in the air when the lines broke. He knew the act could hypothetically continue with just the boy; people will pay to see kids do dangerous stunts like that. They don't couch it like that because it sounds deranged, but that's why crowds eat up shows like the ones the Graysons put on. That fucked his whole plan to cut out Haly's financial base. He didn't sleep the night after the second refusal; he just stayed up and worked out the acid-to-wire ratio instead. It would have been perfect, too – he's always been good at chemistry, Tony has – if the show hadn't been delayed.

"By the time we got all of the facts straight, what with the kid not being dead but not being allowed to stay with the circus, either, Haly had pulled his little 'don't come near me' stunt and shut the guys down for the last time. The show left, and there was nothing else he could do to them. He has Newtown in the palm of his hand, but his arms aren't long enough to strike very far outside of that. I told him to leave it be and concentrate on covering his tracks, but he couldn't let it go. He'd had this great project at his feet, and the kid surviving derailed it…so he made the kid his project, instead.

"He knew it wasn't going to be easy, or fast. Like I said, Newtown is his, but he had no connections in Gotham. He brought all of his old contacts with him when we moved, and the people who want chemicals here already had their own, very jealous, suppliers, so trying to send his men in after Grayson was risky. He didn't want to start an intercity war by stepping on anyone's toes – although I'm sure if he'd had another couple of years to get bored of Newtown he might have considered launching one just for the thrill of it – so he had to move carefully. He was just starting to get really frustrated, not sure how he could strike inside Gotham and within the CPS system, when the news broke that Bruce Wayne was taking the boy in.

"_That_ gave him ideas, let me tell you. A private home had to be easier to get into than an institution, you know? But the Wayne place…it's a fucking fortress. I don't know who that guy thinks is likely to come after him, but he's sure as hell ready for them. Tony knew he needed an ally, someone who provided some sort of service he could use and who could get close to what he wanted without raising too many eyebrows. On top of that, it needed to be someone who could be bought.

"A real bastard, was what he wanted. Heh…someone like him," he grinned momentarily. "He considered using one of the Newtown cops he's got on the take, maybe seeing if they could be embedded with the Gotham police who were working on the Grayson investigation, but that fell through when they closed the case. I think he even played around for a while with the idea of having someone approach Wayne's butler, but there was never a good opportunity to feel out whether or not he'd even be interested."

The man behind the cowl nearly smirked. _That would have been glorious, Zucco approaching Alfred in order to get to Dick. I would have paid a fairly large sum to see the reaction that suggestion would have drawn. I imagine the henchmen you sent to make the proposition would be in the hospital rather than jail right now._ "What was his solution?"

"Well, it was kind of weird, to be honest. Tony was getting really frustrated again, and then the answer just fell into his lap. He had an order out for the boys to bring him anything that they heard or saw about Wayne or the Grayson kid, and they'd been really good about it. I don't think there was anything published locally, at least, that didn't get filtered onto his desk. Anyway, one of the tabloids ran a bunch of photos on their website of the two of them in some parking garage. One of the guys saw the spread on their phone almost as soon as it went up – I don't get people who read those retarded rumor magazines, but it sure got him points with Tony – and that was it. Wayne had had the kid for a week, but no one else had gotten pictures of the two of them together like this photographer had. Shit, what was his name? Something foreign…I don't pay attention to that, that's Tony schtick…I think it was Greek, though…yeah…Anazas," he snapped his fingers. "That was it."

_Anazas, Anaxas… close enough,_ Batman felt a snarl beginning to curl his lip. _That explains a lot._

"So Tony sees this Anazas' work, and he's got to get him on the payroll. He didn't waste any time about it, either; two hours after those photos were online, the pair of them were sitting in the office and hashing out terms. It was a good deal for what's-his-face; three hundred grand, just for finding out where exactly in the house the kid sleeps and getting pictures so our guys wouldn't screw it up and go to the wrong window. Obviously Anazas was going to have to break in to take the shots, but it turned out he's an insider when it comes to Wayne's security. He's got an obsession with the guy – don't ask me why, _I_ think that rich prick's a blowhard – and has been stalking him for _years_. Tony couldn't have asked for a better partner, and on top of it Anazas didn't even care _why_ he wanted the pictures. No questions asked; he just agreed to the price tag, said he'd been saving a way to get onto the property just for something like this, and headed out.

"He was supposed to be back by daybreak with the information so they could snatch the kid Saturday night, but…well, you probably heard that the dumbass got himself caught. Best telephoto lenses in the industry, at least that's what Tony said that he said, but he decides to crawl across the fucking lawn and up to the house. I don't know, maybe his man-crush or whatever on Wayne got the better of him, made him want to get closer. Maybe he was hoping he'd catch him doing something nasty with the kid," he shrugged, "I could see Anazas being into that, he's just got that kind of attitude to him. Point is, the pictures were confiscated by the police when they arrested him – so much for knowing Wayne's defenses inside and out – and Tony was shit out of luck again.

"That put a bit of a damper on his enthusiasm for stealing the kid from the house. If the guy who'd spent years figuring out how to get in and close couldn't even manage it, it was suicide for someone with a week's research under their belt to try. Tony, he recognized that and switched gears, but his new plan…it seemed foolhardy to me. I tried to tell him that stationing teams near the three places Anazas had said they were most likely to show up together and ordering them to grab the kid at the earliest opportunity was insane, but he wouldn't listen, _again_. I don't know…I guess looking back on it I should have seen all of this coming. He's been taking my advice less and less often since we came to Newtown, and…well, I should have bowed out. I've got enough in the bank, there's no reason for me to still be doing all of this illegal shit. I could easily retire and live in luxury on some island until I'm a hundred, you know? But he's my brother…" Drumming his fingers on the tabletop, he tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, giving a long sigh as he did. "Christ, I could use a drink."

The vigilante, busy simultaneously filing away all of the new information he'd just received and fuming that he hadn't even _dreamt_ of a connection between Anaxas and Zucco before now, didn't speak for a moment. _Dick's slept alone in his bedroom since Friday. He went to the bathroom, and then hid in the staircase, at the banquet. He's been alone in the house, possibly even alone __outside__, multiple times. Any one of those times, if there had men inside the Manor grounds…if we hadn't seen Anaxas taking his pictures…that bastard might have gotten him. And if he had, there's no chance he would have been kind. Would I even have found a body, or would he have chucked him into a vat of acid and just let him…disappear? _"…Where were the teams stationed?" he managed finally.

"I don't know. He started pushing me out the last few days, Tony did, same as he hasn't been listening to me. I knew he had guys looking to snatch the Grayson boy, and I knew they were waiting near where the photographer said they had the best chances of getting him, but that's about all I knew."

"Are any of the men he gave the kidnapping order to still free?"

"Ah…how many did you get last night?"

"A dozen, and the two who were with you."

"Then no. That's everyone who should have been present for loading, and he had to call in the teams to help with that because it was a big order."

"Can you guarantee that he didn't tell anyone else what he wanted to do?"

"The ones who were there last night were the operation's inner circle. I don't think he'd have brought anyone else in that fast. I've only been out of the loop for a few days, and I still had my ear to the ground. If he'd have promoted someone, I would have at least heard rumors."

"…If the threat to the boy has been neutralized, why did you call it an 'ongoing operation'?"

"Because I'm not an idiot," the criminal sneered. "I know when the jig is up, and I know how to play my cards. That's why I ran last night instead of staying to fight; it was obvious that Tony was going down, and as I figure I've shown over the last hour I don't want to go down with him, or at least not nearly as hard. This killing and kidnapping bit, that's his thing, not mine. I just run the books and try to keep my brother in line with good advice. If he doesn't want to take it, I don't figure I should have to fall with him. For all intents and purposes, getting Grayson could still be on the top of Tony's priority list; I'm not going to say that the threat's gone, because I know my brother.

"If anyone could run something like that from prison, it would be him," Ralph warned, "and he wants that kid, Batman. He probably wants him even worse now, since it was the murder of his parents that landed Tony in the slammer. I don't know who he'd get to do it or how, but…that boy's luck won't hold out forever. He didn't die at the show; he didn't get snatched while he was in CPS custody; Anazas didn't get the pictures to Tony, so he didn't get grabbed at home; shit, that charity thing Wayne took him to on Saturday would have been perfect, but nothing happened. There have probably been opportunities since then, too. All I know," he concluded, "is that if I was Bruce Wayne and I gave a damn about that kid I'd be watching him close, just in case."

"…Anything else?"

"No. That's everything I know, except…well, you already know he killed Quindley, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then that's it."

"…Fine." Batman stood. "…Zucco."

"What?"

"When you finish your sentence, get the hell away from my city." _And from my son,_ he added silently. "Got it?"

"…I hear you, Batman," Ralph gave him a measuring look from beneath heavy eyebrows. "I hear you."


	88. Chapter 88

"Well, he was considerably more talkative than I thought he would be," Gordon commented once they'd regained his office. "It's almost like he was just waiting to talk to _you_."

"…Had you made him a deal prior to my arrival?" Batman inquired pensively.

"You mean offering him reduced charges if he gave us information that helped in his brother's prosecution?"

"Yes."

"No. Why?"

"…Mm." He stalked to the window and stared out into the light rain that had begun during his interrogation. "…Keep good guards on him, Commissioner. He's not an idiot."

Gordon blinked at him for several moments. "Are you saying you don't believe that he talked because he wanted a reduced sentence? That…what, that he has an ulterior motive for his cooperation?"

"Ralph knew far more about everything than he should for someone who was 'uninvolved.' This could well have been a carefully calculated move. He knows Tony's in bigger trouble than he is; if he lets him take the fall, and especially if he volunteers to help make that happen, he can get out quickly and go right back to running the business."

"…Do you think that's likely?" the other man asked, sounding disheartened.

_That's the problem,_ the vigilante grimaced._ I can't tell. _What he'd just described was a brilliant failsafe plan, but he had absolutely no evidence that the Zuccos had something like it in place. It was possible that Ralph had told them the truth; he was just the books man, hadn't wanted to know about the 'people' side of the business, and had been cut more and more out of the picture as things had developed since the night of the circus. _He knows too much for me to really swallow that. At this rate he'll get out after minimal time served, and I seriously doubt that he's going to take whatever money he has left at that point and move to some tropical island. Then again, the men referred to __Tony__ as the 'boss,' and even Quindley was of the opinion that Ralph was more or less a silent partner…damn. Ralph could be the puppet master behind Tony, an equal partner, or nothing more than exactly what he admitted to being. There's no way of knowing for sure, unless…_ "I want to speak with Tony Zucco."

"Ah…he's not mine any more, Batman, remember? The Feds took over in his case."

_Delightful._ "…He has information I need." _I need to know what he had planned for Dick, and if it's still on. They have an inner circle of a dozen men, if what Ralph said about our having gotten them all last night was accurate. If so, their total organization is at least ten times that size. That leaves plenty of others out on the streets who work for them. If he's going to deploy any of them against me, I want to know ahead of time._

"I'll see what I can do, but…you know how they can be. In the meantime, I'll call Bruce Wayne and let him know what's going on. Maybe assign a couple of men to his house, just to add a little extra deterrence in case anyone tries anything."

"The photographer that was mentioned. Anazas. Do you know anything about him?" _I hate feigning ignorance, but I prefer that to giving myself away,_ he sighed. _You don't know that I know exactly how Anaxas went down, and you don't __need__ to know._

"It's Anaxas, actually; Zucco was a little off on the name. But it happened like he said; he was caught on the lawn of Wayne Manor, in the dark, taking pictures of the boy's bedroom window. He's out on bail, but there are several charges pending, I believe. With what Ralph just said about his association with Tony, I'm sure we'll be able to throw a few more on top of that." He paused. "I'm surprised you weren't already aware of it, to be honest."

"I only just became involved with the Grayson case beyond the murders," he replied smoothly, turning Gordon's probing into a segue towards his other business here tonight. "I understand that he was one of the children involved in the CPS scandal your officers are dealing with?"

"_That,_" the Commissioner's face went hard, "is a terrible situation. And yes, unfortunately he was one of the victims. But…when did you come into it? The case just broke earlier today." _More importantly, __why__ did you pick it up? Yes, a boy died this morning, and that was awful, but one child isn't normally enough to draw you. Unless…my god, are there more? How many children does this encompass? We thought it was just Grayson and Dennison…do you know something we don't? __That__ would be sufficient reason for you to take the case, if there were multiple victims… _

"Since then," the vigilante answered vaguely. "Are you still waiting on a search warrant for the detention center's offices?"

"Yes, or at least that was the last I heard."

"Mm. Here, then," he tossed him the jump drive onto which he'd saved the manuscript and other evidence. "They'll have erased the most important item on there by the time you get in in the morning."

"What is it?"

"A manuscript outlining a 'rehabilitation' plan involving putting innocent children in with hardened juvenile offenders."

Gordon drew a sharp breath. "…Both the Center's counselor _and_ Bruce Wayne intimated that something like that was going on. You say it's on here, the full document?"

"Yes. It came off of the Center Director's computer earlier this evening. Evidence for motive on the part of Margine Randall, the other author, is also there."

"…Don't you need it for whatever you're doing?"

"I've read enough of it." _Enough of it to make me sick, at least._

"Batman…how many children are involved in this?" he asked, studying the plastic chip in his hand sorrowfully. "We only know about the two most recent," he offered, aware that he was more likely to get a straight answer if he volunteered information first.

"…Roughly a dozen. It's all on there, Commissioner."

_A dozen? Damn it, I wish we'd caught on sooner… _"Right. I'll look at it after I call Bruce Wayne and get a couple of men dispatched up there for him. And I'll check with the Feds about you speaking to Tony, too. God…Wayne's poor kid flipped from the frying pan into the fire, it seems. He's in a better place now, at least, but..." Looking up from the object his concentration had been riveted on, he found himself alone and heaved a heavy sigh. "…I really, _really_ hate it when he does that."

_…I'm not ecstatic about the idea of there being police stationed at the house,_ Batman mused as he dropped from the roof and stalked towards the car. _But so long as they stay outside it shouldn't be too much of a problem. Besides, it might make Dick feel a little better, and that's what matters. _Inside the vehicle, he weighed his options. _I had planned to patrol, but…knowing what I do about Zucco's plans, I think I'd prefer not to. It will take a little time for Gordon to get officers up the hill, if he even sends them before morning. Besides,_ he flicked through the emergency dispatch frequencies, _it seems like a quiet night._

_I vote for home,_ Bruce piped up.

_…Fine. Agreed._

Zucco and Randall took turns plaguing him the entire way back to the cave. _I __have__ to speak with Tony,_ he thought fervently. _He's the only one who knows whether or not he's still chasing Dick, and he should be able to give me a better sense of just how involved Ralph was with it all. Goddamn Feds…couldn't they have waited another twelve hours to take him for themselves? They don't care whether or not he's still trying to get to someone, even a child; all they're concerned with is keeping him from moving chemicals over state lines. Throwing him in prison for the rest of his life is exactly what should happen, but if he truly is capable of running a kidnapping and…killing…operation from behind bars – and he wouldn't be the first to do so – then jail doesn't eliminate the problem._

_ And Randall…she's done, now that the police have the manuscript, but that doesn't mean that the custody case is secure. In fact, what Ralph said about Tony could throw a screw into that…surely they wouldn't remove him from the house because of an ongoing external threat. That would be ridiculous_. _He's safer at the Manor than he could ever be at a public facility. _

By the time he pulled the Batmobile into its spot he was shifting between exhaustion and hyperactivity, the events of the past day and night both stimulating and wearing out his battered mind. _Maybe if I'm lucky he's already moved into my room,_ the billionaire thought hopefully as he placed the cowl on its stand. _That way he won't wake me up when he comes in later…actually,_ he frowned, _if he isn't in there already, I'll just move him. I don't want him left alone, especially not while he's asleep. Although I suppose Alfred's going to make me at least have a cup of coffee or something with Clark before he leaves…Christ, I'm so tired, though…_

Trudging upstairs once he'd changed, he headed for the second floor. "…Alfred?" he whispered, pushing Dick's bedroom door open. _I don't want to wake kiddo, but…what the hell?_ Panic tangled in his stomach as he stepped inside to find the space deserted. An abandoned chair sat by the entrance; the covers had been hastily thrown back; Elinor was splayed on the floor beside the bed. On the opposite wall, a two-inch gap between the window frame and sill let in the occasional rain-scented breeze. _Maybe they're just across the hall already,_ he fretted, flying back into the corridor with wide, wild eyes. _But…he wouldn't leave Elinor, would he, if he had a nightmare? I don't think he'd brought her into my room before, but after last night I'm sure whatever dream he had was awful. Wouldn't he want that comfort, even with Alfred right there when he woke up from it?_

_ Oh,_ a hollow ringing filled his ears as he bolted into his own room and found it completely undisturbed. _Oh, god, no. Where are they? The window was open…did the police give Anaxas his pictures back? If they did, and he got them to Tony after all…if Ralph was telling the truth, and he just wasn't informed that the pictures had come in… Zucco...he…how…where the hell was the almighty goddamn Superman for this!? _he raged._ And why did they take Alfred, too? Although I suppose that's better than the alternative, since they probably would have just outright killed him otherwise…I have to go back to the cave,_ he determined, eyes wet but cold as he headed back towards the staircase. _I'll force my way in to see Tony if I have to. Whatever it takes to get him to tell me what he did with my baby…_

He was crossing the foyer when a voice sounded. "…Master Wayne?" The arrest of Bruce's footsteps in response to those two familiar words was so sudden that he nearly slipped. "Are you all right, sir?"

"_Alfred,"_ he breathed, managing to turn around without injury. "Where is he?"

_…You went upstairs first,_ the butler discerned. _You went upstairs and found his chamber empty, and then discovered yours to be the same. If the Commissioner told me even half of what you must know from your interview with Ralph Zucco, it's no wonder you panicked upon not finding any of us where you expected us to be. It's a miracle you didn't cry out, I imagine, and thank heaven; there's no telling how Master Dick would have taken hearing that, especially after the night he's had thus far. _"He's in the den with Mister Kent, sir," he reassured, coming forward. "He's perfectly safe."

"…Safe?" Alfred's last two words repeated themselves in his head, disbelieving at first and then overjoyed. "No one's…has anyone…I mean…" _Jesus, calm down,_ he chastised himself. _He's safe. They're safe. Relax._

"I spoke with the Commissioner a short while ago. He informed me that there is reason to believe that someone might still attempt to take the young sir under Tony Zucco's orders, despite that…man's…current incarceration. We moved downstairs a bit after that, but we've had no intruders or other external causes for concern."

_Thank god._ "That's…that's good, Alfred," he slumped. "That's good." Excusing himself, he tried to move past the Englishman, but was halted by a hand on his wrist. "…What?"

"You should know, Master Wayne, that he had what must have been a truly atrocious sleep terror a short while ago. It took me nearly a full minute to wake him from it, and he's only just stopped crying." The stricken look on his elder charge's face made him immediately regret giving that news. _But better this than for him to go in unaware,_ he reminded himself. _At least now he has a moment to prepare himself. Seeing the young master in tears such as those he was giving out earlier was absolutely unbearable, I can't imagine how he would take it without preparation… _"He won't tell either of us what it was about, although I imagine it has to do with last night's foray to Newtown. I believe that Mister Kent has managed to get him somewhat diverted with talk, but it's been a very trying half hour or so."

"…He's been crying for _half an hour_? Why didn't you call me?" _Ooh, Dicky, baby,_ the billionaire thought achingly as he strode towards the hallway. _I'm so sorry, I should have been here, I'm __so__ sorry…_

"I was preparing to do just that when I received the call from the Commissioner. I imagined you would be on your way home already based on what he said, and thought it best not to trouble you before you could do anything about the issue," Alfred answered as he followed Bruce. As they approached, a nervous little giggle made its way into the hallway. "…There, you see?" the butler nearly sighed in relief. "He's already bounced back somewhat, it seems."

_…Yeah, on __Clark's__ joke. It was probably a stupid one, they usually are._ He paused. _Well, that was decidedly third grade of me. What is going __on__ with that?_ A moment later he stepped into the den to find Dick giving the Kryptonian an amused smile from beneath red, irritated-looking eyes, and his interest in _why_ his ire kept growing when it came to his comrade slipped into the background. _Oh, great. I should have known leaving you two together was a bad idea. I'm gone for a few hours, and you're already best friends. He even got you to stop crying. I don't know why he took half an hour to do it, though…you look awful, baby. Come here, I need to make sure you're really okay…Let me make it better. _Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly as the child began to reply to something he'd been asked, he prepared himself for what he had no doubt would be a disturbing tale. "…Dick?"

**Author's Note: Okay, so the regular pattern from here on will be that I don't post on Mondays or Tuesdays. If I do post something on those days, I will try to announce my intentions to do so beforehand, and any such posting will probably not be on whatever my main story of the moment is (eg, it'll be a new chapter of A Spot of Tea or something). On that note, Wednesday's chapter will be cuddletastic. Happy reading!**


	89. Chapter 89

The sentence the child was midway through immediately cut off as his head snapped around to face the new arrival. He didn't speak, but the blur he became when he leapt off of the couch and threw himself at his guardian said everything. "Hey, kiddo," the billionaire crooned in a low voice as he lifted him. _I hope Clark left his super-hearing off for the sake of politeness. This is a private moment, even if he __is__ sitting right there_. "It's okay now."

"Bruce," Dick half-moaned back, his arms locking around the man's neck. _You're home. You're safe. You didn't…I didn't let… _"I…I had a bad dream," he confessed.

"I know. Alfred told me." He carried him back to the couch as he spoke, and was completely unsurprised when no attempt was made by the boy to pull away once they were seated. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"N-not right now?" he semi-begged, shuddering at the thought.

"Hush," Bruce's hand traced his spine soothingly. _Oh, baby, you're shaking. What's wrong?_ "We'll do that in a little bit, then, okay?"

"Okay…"

With a pointed face still buried against his throat, the billionaire turned to his guest. _That's a weird look, Clark,_ he arched an eyebrow as he spotted the half worried, half overwhelmed expression the Kryptonian was wearing as he watched them. _Knock it off. What am I supposed to do, __not__ comfort my upset child?_ "What happened?" he asked with a trace of gruffness. _He cried for half an hour; one of you must have __some__ idea as to why._

"We don't know," the visitor answered. "Alfred had gotten a glass of water and was on the stairs when I came back from the mountain. He was worried that both of us being in the room might wake him up, so I stayed here and just checked in aurally every few minutes. After the Commissioner called they moved downstairs, and a bit after that is when the nightmare hit. That's the extent of my knowledge."

"Mm." He paused, his fingers moving up to card through the dark locks tickling beneath his jaw. "…How did you get him to calm down?"

"Oh…I, ah, told him about the mules," Clark said a bit sheepishly.

"…The mules," Bruce repeated in a flat tone. _You couldn't come up with something more interesting? No wonder he was so upset. A story about mules would bore me damn near to tears, too._

"Yeah. I don't know, he seemed to like it."

"Good story…" a sleepy mumble came from the vicinity of the boy's mouth. "I like…mules…"

_Tired kiddo,_ the billionaire mused. _Maybe now that I'm home you can sleep peacefully. _"What was the story?" he inquired grudgingly. _I'm just as exhausted as Dick is, but I hate to move before he's completely out. Once he's down again I think he'll stay that way for the night, at least so long as I don't wander too far from him. Besides,_ he glanced around the room for the butler and failed to find him, _I think Alfred's gone for coffee already, and I don't have the energy for the look he'll give me if I try and skip out._

"It wasn't anything special. I was just telling him about the time one of them kicked me."

_I think I like where this story is going, after all. __Jesus__, _he wrinkled his nose a moment later, _what is __wrong__ with me lately? _ "And?"

"And…well, it didn't do much, obviously. The mule looked surprised when I just stood there and stared at it," he shrugged. "That's all there was to it really, but to be honest I was kind of grasping at straws. I have plenty of other farm stories, but a lot of them are…uh…less than appropriate for your average nine-year-old."

"So you were bragging about being impervious to harm, instead."

Clark tilted his head to one side and gave him a curious look. "…Did I do something wrong, Bruce?" he asked slowly.

…_Oh, hell, Clark, I don't know. _"No," he replied stiltedly, turning his eyes to the boy in his arms to avoid the reporter's gaze. "It's just…been a long day." _It's more than that. It's more, and I don't know why._ "For him _and_ I."

"Master Wayne, Mister Kent, I thought you might like a cup of coffee over which to unwind and catch up," Alfred broke the mildly awkward silence that followed the billionaire's comment. "…Has the young sir gone back to sleep?" he inquired as he caught sight of the child's unmoving position.

"I think so," Bruce nodded. "…Dicky?" There was no answer. "Yeah, I'd say he's done for the night."

"Excellent. In that case I'll head downstairs and see to your costume, unless you require something further?"

"…Actually, I'd prefer it if you stayed up here. I might as well tell you both what I learned tonight." _You need to know, and Clark will pester me interminably if I don't share now._

"Of course, sir," the butler drew nearer. "Here, allow me," he added, then swiftly poured two servings of dark roast and handed them over.

"How much did the Commissioner say on the phone?" Bruce asked as he accepted his cup with one hand.

"We spoke for several minutes, but he gave me relatively little actual information. The essentials were that Batman had spoken with Ralph Zucco, who had revealed that Tony Zucco, the man responsible for the deaths of the young master's parents, may still be working to get his hands on him or to harm him long-distance from jail. He stated that he will be sending two officers up to the house first thing in the morning to watch the exterior and to be close at hand in case something occurs."

"Good. That's about what I figured he'd tell you, but there's plenty more you should be aware of tonight." With that he launched into his story, explaining the motive behind targeting the circus, Tony Zucco's rage at being rebuffed, and his suspicions that Ralph wasn't as innocent as he'd made himself out to be.

"…The photographer was working for him the entire time," Alfred said, shaking his head with a pinched look.

"No. That's the strange thing. If he was telling the truth, Anaxas didn't start working for Tony until just a few hours before we caught him out on the lawn. The parking garage pictures are what got Tony interested in him, and they can't have come out any earlier than Friday afternoon. He said Anaxas has an obsession with me, for some reason. But what bothers me far more than that is Ralph himself. I can't figure out if he's lying through his teeth or being completely honest. What he said makes sense with what I already knew, but the fact that he knew some of what he told me at all forces me to question his real role in all of this. I've requested to speak with Tony; if the Feds will let me in to see him and he's willing to talk, maybe I can clear up some of this confusion and find out if he really _is_ still gunning for Dick."

"What would you like us to do in the meantime, sir?"

"Having police present will lessen the danger to an extent, but there are still only going to be two of them, it sounds like. I don't want kiddo left alone for long stretches until something changes. I realize that he can't be attached to your hip all day long _and_ while I'm on patrol, but…when I'm out of the house, I'd like him checked on every quarter hour. As for tomorrow, I have to go into the office, but I'll try and keep it as short as I can. He'll probably sleep most of the time that I'm gone." _Now I'm regretting telling him he can't go to the cave for two weeks,_ he grimaced. _The one place in Gotham that Zucco's men wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding him, and it's off-limits. Well…if the threat gets extreme enough I can always postpone his punishment and send him downstairs. I really don't want to undermine my own authority, and especially not when he's being punished for something so serious as sneaking out as Robin, but if it comes down to it I'll take having him alive over standing my ground any day._

"Bruce," Clark broached cautiously, "about the Feds who are holding Tony Zucco…you're not so good with government agents."

"I'm aware," he answered tightly. "But I'll manage."

"If you need my help-"

"I've _got_ it, Clark." _Just because Superman has a perfect 'All-American' image with D.C. doesn't mean that I need him to intervene every time there's a federal agent in town,_ he steamed._ Dick is __my__ kid, and __I'll__ be the one who takes care of him, whether that entails chasing down sick bastards who want to hurt him or just talking him through a nightmare. I don't require your help to do either of those things. _

"…Okay. Well, if you change your mind…" Looking a tad put out, the newspaperman rose. "Unless there's something else tonight, I guess I'll head home. It's late, and _someone_," he smiled at the boy who was still curled up in his guardian's arms, "looks ready for bed."

"There's a room made up for you, if you'd like, Mister Kent," Alfred offered when he sensed that his elder charge wasn't going to make the usual proposal himself. "It's no trouble if you'd like to stay."

"Thank you, but I have things to do in Metropolis tonight still," came back sincerely. "Besides, between you and Bruce anyone who tries to come in after Dick is going to regret the day they were born." _You don't need me here tonight, and to be honest I'm getting the sense that Bruce doesn't __want__ me here. I'm not really sure why that is, but…well, that's how it seems. Hopefully it's just stress and tiredness from everything that you've all been dealing with these last few weeks; I hate to think that he wouldn't tell me if I'd done something to upset him. _"I assume that Batman _won't_ be at the JLA meeting again this week?"

_I hate to miss another one, but…_ "I'll play it by ear. If everything's still calm, I'll be there."

"Okay. Well, maybe I'll see you in a couple of days, then. And Bruce? Let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Really, I'd like to."

"…Yeah. Sure." _I don't __want__ your help. Not with him. He's mine._

"…Good night," Clark sighed and headed for the door. "Thanks for the coffee, Alfred. It was great, as always."

"Not at all, Mister Kent. I'll be sure to relay your goodbye to the young master when he awakens. He seemed to enjoy his brief conversation with you." Unseen by both of the standing men, Bruce bristled. "Good night."

"…I'm taking kiddo to bed," the billionaire stated once the Kryptonian was out of sight. "I have a ten o'clock meeting in the morning."

"My apologies, sir. Would you like me to reschedule it for you?"

"No, it's about a new merger project. Lucius will have my head if I try."

"Very well, Master Wayne." _You'll be asleep on your feet, but at least said feet will be under the conference table. I'll make sure of that._ "Do you require anything further from me tonight?" _Besides, perhaps, a review of basic etiquette. You were barely civil to Mister Kent just now, and considering that he is probably the closest adult friend you have that is worrying on more than one level. Well…perhaps you're simply exhausted. I'll give you the benefit of doubt for tonight, but you had best be more polite the next time he comes to call._

"No, I think we're okay," he answered, rising carefully to his feet. "…Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"…He really wouldn't say _anything_ about his dream?"

"Not a word, but he was quite inconsolable."

"…Right. Thanks. See you in the morning."

"Good night, sir."

Bruce thought that he was going to get to sleep without tackling whatever it was that had given his son such a miserable nightmare. That hope vanished as he pulled him close under the covers and heard his name spoken, a soft little one-word question that carried far more emotion than should have been possible. "Hush, Dicky," he murmured. "Go back to sleep. I'm right here."

"…Bruce?" came again.

"Hmm?" _Go to sleep, please, we'll talk in the morning…_

"My dream…"

_So much for that,_ the billionaire pried his eyes open. "Okay, chum," he sighed. "Tell me about your dream."

"Are we alone?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I didn't want to tell Alfred…I didn't want to sc-scare him, even though he asked what I had dreamed about, and I thought it might scare him because it scared _me…_I…it…it was about you," the boy whispered, his voice already trembling.

…_Of course it was. God damn it… _"What about me, kiddo?" he tried to keep his voice even.

"It…it was about the hose thingy that Zucco used. And…and about f-falling, and…and I c-couldn't save you, but I tried so _hard_, Bruce…"

_Ooh, boy._ Propping himself up on one arm, he peered down at the wide, frightened eyes watching him. "Well, I'm right here," he reminded once more. "So why don't you tell me the details?"

"You're not…you'll stay here, right? I d-don't have to go back to my room?"

'_My room,'_ the phrase drew a near-smile on the man's face. _You called it __your__ room. Dicky…yes. Your room._ "No," he swore. "You're going to stay with me tonight."

"Okay," he nodded, clearly relieved. "Well…we were in Zucco's plant again. And I was up in the rafters, and you…you were down on the floor. At first it…it was just like when we were really there. He splashed you, and then you went up to fight him. But when he knocked you off…well, when you jumped, I guess…it was _way_ higher up than it was in real life. It…it was like t-trapeze height, and you…you fell all that way, almost. You shot out your grapple, but Zucco m-melted it with the acid and you fell some more, and…and I know it wasn't as far as my parents…as…as they fell, Bruce, at least not after you used your grapple, but it must have still hurt you. It _must_ have hurt you, because you screamed, and you couldn't really get up, and it was awful. And I _knew_ what he was going to do, I just _knew_, and I wanted to stop him, but…I was frozen. Just…just like I was when I heard the two in the warehouse say that they were the ones who put the acid on…on the wires. I tried _so hard_, Bruce, I really, _really _did, but…I couldn't move.

"So he…he stood there, up above you. You were kinda…kinda trying t-to crawl away, and I think you were telling me to g-go, but I _couldn't_ go, Bruce, because you were hurt and right there and…and I couldn't do anything. I just…I just had to watch while he…while Zucco…and the hose…and…and…everything m-m-_melted_, and people shouldn't _look_ like that, Bruce, and especially not you!" Now the tears came again, and he clung desperately to the man beside him, begging forgiveness. "'M sorry," he wailed. "I…I couldn't move. I chickened out, and I…I let him kill you. I l-l-let you _die._"


	90. Chapter 90

"No, chum," Bruce whispered, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he squeezed his sobbing child. _Of course. Of course it was the fucking acid supply hose. Tied in with the high fall and then waking up to find me still out when you knew I was going to be in the same room with a Zucco tonight…god, it's no wonder you panicked. As if that weren't enough, for you to be blaming yourself for what happened in the dream…oh, baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry…_ "I'm right here. Right here with you. It's okay."

"I c-couldn't do _anything_, Bruce!"

"I know. I know," he repeated. Sitting up, he pulled the boy with him and began to gently rock back and forth. "I know. But it was just a dream. Just a bad dream. It's over now, and do you know what?"

"What?" came a watery reply.

"That dream will _never, ever_ come true, because you _did_ do something. You _did_ jump down on him, and knock him out, and now he's in jail, right?"

"R-right…but…"

"But what?" _Don't. Don't have one of your 'I can read you like a book' moments, please. Not right now. Not after what you just told me._

"H-he could get out, couldn't he? Or…well…doesn't he have people w-working f-for him? What if they-"

"Stop," Bruce ordered. "That's…that's not going to happen. Even if he gets out, or if he has men…looking for you…they're not even going to get close. I won't let them." It was a huge risk, making such a promise when he knew that the odds were very good that Tony Zucco did in fact have orders out for someone to get their hands on him, but he couldn't stand the sound of crying for another second. _I'm going to have to tell you the truth, I know, but…it will wait until morning. It doesn't have to be tonight._ "Now…was there more to it after that? Did anything else happen?" _I don't want you to leave anything unspoken. It's more likely to come back and haunt you again if you don't talk it all out, and if you have that dream when you're already right next to me I don't know what the hell I'll be able to do to make it better._

"I…well…yes."

The hesitant tone that admission was couched in made the billionaire's stomach drop. "What was it, kiddo? Tell me everything."

"…You aren't going to like it. It's going to make you angry."

"I won't get angry, I promise."

"_Promise_ promise?"

He almost smiled at that quintessentially childish question. "…Promise promise, Dicky. Tell me."

"I…well, remember how I said he…he…"

"What he did to me," Bruce filled in quickly, trying to head off fresh tears. "I remember."

"Okay. I guess he must have heard you yelling at me…telling me to g-go away, to run back to the car and g-get home to Alf-f-fred…because…because he turned around when he was done spraying…spraying you. I didn't see him do it, 'cause I was…I was watching _you_, and…and crying…" He sniffled. "So I didn't see him look up and find me. I sat in th-that spot the _whole time_, like some…some dumb idiot," he shook his head, "and I c-couldn't do anything. Then he pointed the hose at…_me_. And…and at first it was just like water, you know? It just knocked me down, onto the same platform with him. But…but it _burned_ after that, Bruce. It hurt _so_ bad, and…and I could still s-see you k-k-kind of moving a little below, but everything hurt so bad that all I could do was scream, and then I couldn't see anything, and…I think maybe you c-called out my name – my real name, not…not Robin – right before it ended, but…I don't know. I don't remember. If I had just _moved_ before he hurt you, none of that would have happened!"

_Ooh, honey, baby, no,_ the billionaire moaned silently. _He got me, and then he got you. And you __felt__ it. I suppose that maybe makes it a bit easier for you to understand why I didn't want you near him, but…oh, that bastard. That son of a bitch. _"None of it _did_ happen, chum," he swore. "See? Look, Dick. Look at me." When the boy's wet cheeks and trembling pout turned upwards, he felt something snap. _Die in prison, Tony Zucco. Don't let me get within arm's length of you outside of an interrogation room. Just…never give me that opportunity. I don't want to know what I would do. I've never hated anyone quite this way before…the Joker is close, but…this is different. You made my boy cry and blame himself for something that not only wasn't his fault, but that didn't even happen. Even if you'd done nothing else…that is unforgiveable. _"We're right here. Right here, together. And it's okay. He didn't hurt us."

"He hurt you," he was corrected immediately.

"That's so minor it doesn't even count. See?" he turned his head to one side and waited as the boy knelt to look. "It's nothing." _Trust me, I've had __much__ worse. Not that that's an appropriate conversation to have with you right now, but…still._

"It looks kind of red. You should put more gel stuff on it, like Alfred told you to last night."

"Now how can you tell if it's red in the dark?" Bruce teased gently as the youth plopped back down into his lap. A pleading look was all he received in reply, and he sighed. "Would it make you feel better if I let you put the ointment on for me?" _Hell, it seems to make Alfred feel better when he dresses my injuries, so maybe it will work for you, too. _A nod came. "Okay. I'll go get the cream from the bathroom."

"Don't leave me!" Small fingers scrabbled at his collar. "Please. Please, Bruce, don't…"

"No, I won't," he agreed softly. "But I'm tired. Can you walk with me?"

Dick slid off of the bed obediently, taking the hand that was proffered when the billionaire had also gained his feet. A minute later he scrambled back up onto the mattress and began to strip the lid off of the tube he held, waiting impatiently for the man to sit so he could do his work. "…There," he announced once he'd coated the mild wound and an inch of skin in every direction with a thick layer of goop. "Does it feel better?"

"You bet it does." _What __doesn't__ feel better is the fact that you were more upset about the fact that Zucco killed me in your dream than that he killed you. I know both parts upset you, but…you cried a hell of a lot less when you were describing your portion of it. What was that about, anyway? I know you felt guilty about what happened to me, but…your parents are mixed up in there too, I think. Otherwise I can't imagine that you would have envisioned me falling as far as you said I did, and the sense you described of poising to move, to act, to __perform__, but then not being able to…both of those things jive with what happened at the circus. He killed me, and then before you realized that he even knew you were there he turned around and killed you, too…_ He swallowed hard. "Dick…there are some things you need to know about my talk with Ralph Zucco." _I thought it would wait until morning, but…I can't. I just can't. If you know he's still after you, maybe that will be enough to save your life if I fail to protect you._

The boy was suddenly seated at his side, pajama-clad legs dangling above the floor as he pressed himself close. "Did he…did he tell you _why_, Bruce?"

"Ah…yes. He did. It's a long story, so I'll just give you the highlights for tonight, okay?"

"…Okay," he answered hesitantly. "I'm…I'm ready."

_You don't sound ready. _"Zucco wanted the circus to move people for one of his chemicals clients. Bad people, Dick, who wanted to hurt others. When Haly refused, Tony thought that…well, he thought that if he killed your parents-" _and you,_ he couldn't bring himself to add, "-that the circus' bottom line would be undercut and they'd _have _to take the money he was offering for them to move those bad people around."

"…He killed them for _money_?" Dick asked, sounding distressed.

"Not directly, chum, no. Zucco didn't care about what he was going to be paid for coordinating the moves, at least that's what Ralph said. All he was interested in was the challenge of a new venture. He'd never dealt with transporting dangerous people before, and he was finished taking over Newtown, so...that's what it came down to."

"That's an even worse reason than if they'd died for money." Bowing his head, the child wrapped his arms around his stomach, feeling a comforting hand land on his back as he did. "They died because Tony Zucco was bored. That's…that's so _stupid_, Bruce."

"You're right. It is," the billionaire concurred simply. There was nothing more than that to be said on the subject, it seemed, and they sat silently for a long moment. "…Dick?"

"Yes?" he sniffled.

"There's something else that you need to know tonight. Ralph seems to think that his brother is still out to get you."

"What? Why?" His face came up with a puzzled expression. "I'm not with the circus anymore, what does he care?"

"I guess he figures that if you'd been in the air that night – if you'd fallen with your parents – Haly would have folded. But you weren't, so he didn't. I'm skeptical about some of the things I was told tonight, kiddo, but not about that. Based on what we already knew about Tony Zucco, I…I wouldn't be surprised if he still wants to hurt you."

"…Oh."

_Damn it…_ "But that's _not_ going to happen, okay? I need you to understand that. I'm trying to get in to see Tony, and if that happens I can get a better idea of what, if anything, he's trying to get his guys who are still free to do in regards to you. With any luck I'm completely wrong and you're the last thing on his mind. But just in case, I want you to try not to be alone or wander off for a little while, okay? When I'm not home, stick close to Alfred. There will be two police officers hanging out around the house starting before you wake up in the morning, too. The Commissioner sent them up after he heard what Ralph said. Don't go running off again, and everything should be fine.

"…But just in case," he instructed slowly, "_if_ someone were to get into the house and was trying to get their hands on you, I want you to run to the cave. That's _not_ permission to start going down there again until your punishment is up," he clarified, "but in an emergency, don't worry about Robin being grounded. In that situation, when you get downstairs I want you to put on a mask and use the special telephone I showed you to call Mount Justice. Tell whoever answers that you're calling for Batman and that you need help at the cave. Someone will come. _Don't_ come back upstairs until they've told you it's okay or either Alfred or I have come down to get you. Do you understand?"

Dick gave him a solemn look. "…He could still totally kill us, couldn't he? Even though we put him in jail. He could kill us as civilians." _Why else would you be telling me this, about going to the cave and calling for help? I don't want to do that, Bruce. I don't want to abandon you and Alfred upstairs for them to hurt or…or…well, you know. _

"It's not going to happen. It won't," he insisted, spotting a glimmer of skepticism in the depths of the boy's normally trusting gaze. "I just wanted to run down the procedure, that's all. In fact…what I just described should be your normal course of action if there's ever an invasion of the manor by _anyone_. All right? This is stuff you'd need to know even if Zucco wasn't in the picture, so try not to think of it being just for him. Stick close to someone you can trust until I say otherwise, and you'll be fine. Can you do that for me?" _Don't argue. If I think you're __not__ going to do it, I'm likely to have a fucking heart attack. He __can't__ get his hands on you. He can't. I don't want to see you in my dreams again the way you saw me in yours tonight._

"I'll do what you want me to, Bruce. I promise." _I'll try to, at least, but...I don't think I could just leave you upstairs to fight for me. What if you needed me? Maybe it won't ever happen, though…_

"Good," the man squeezed him tight for an instant, then bent to press a brief kiss to his scalp. "Now, it's _way_ past your bed time. Do you think you're ready to try sleeping again?"

"As long as I can stay here with you, I'll be okay," the child volunteered bravely as they climbed back beneath the blankets. "But…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"…Why didn't Pop just agree to move the person, then turn them into the police when we were far away from here? Or cancel the last show and move us away, or…I don't know. Something. Why didn't he do something _else_?" _He knew they were bad men. Couldn't he have done __something__?_

"I'm sure he didn't know that they'd go after you and your parents, do you? He would have at least warned them if he thought they would be targeted."

"And dad would have checked the wires another time," Dick slumped. "…I know that. I just…I just wish…they didn't deserve that, you know?"

"No. They didn't. Not at all." _More importantly, neither did you,_ he thought. _Even though it would mean never meeting you, chum, if I had the power to go back and keep them from dying…I would. I would save them for you, if I could, even if losing you killed me. _

"…Bruce?" a half-conscious mumble was heard a few minutes later.

"Mm-hmm…?"

"Did Superman…Clark…did he go?"

_Ugh. __Not__ who I wanted to think about right before sleep, kiddo._ "Yeah. He left."

"…Did he say goodbye?"

_You'll be hurt if I tell you that he didn't, so…_ "He did."

"Mmkay." Sensing a mild disturbance in the man's near-sleep mien, Dick shuffled a bit closer and gave a tiny sigh. "G'night, Bruce," he breathed. "I won't let…Zucco…won't let him…"

Bruce waited patiently for the end of the sentence, but it never came. _Passed out, _he judged finally, an adoring upcurve passing across his lips. _Don't let him get you, Dicky,_ was his last conscious thought. _I don't care what happens to me, but don't you dare let him get you._


	91. Chapter 91

_This was __not__ supposed to take this long,_ the billionaire thought irritably just after noon the next day. Despite his determination to only duck into the office long enough to attend his ten o'clock meeting and to grab what he needed to work from home over the weekend, he'd been lassoed into lengthy discussions with two separate department heads as well as an emergency board session. Finally escaping into the executive suite and in a rush to get out of the building before anyone else spotted him, he began to shove folders into his briefcase. _I want to go home, damn it,_ he cursed silently as he worked. _If I hurry, he might not have eaten yet.._.

"…Mr. Wayne, Mr. Fox is here to see you," Cynthia buzzed back.

"Chriiiist…fine," he huffed. "Send him back." _So much for that._ "Lucius," he greeted more tersely than usual when the other man entered a moment later.

"Bruce," the CFO smiled broadly. "I won't keep you, I'm sure you're in a rush to get home and celebrate."

It was an odd enough comment that the billionaire paused and peered across the room at him. "…Why? Has something happened worth celebrating?" _I suppose I could celebrate giving the manuscript to Gordon last night, but you don't know anything about that, so what the hell are you talking about? If it was something in the news this morning, I'm clueless._ He'd slept in, loathe to leave his slumbering child, and hadn't had time to do anything other than take the travel mug of coffee Alfred had offered him on his way out the door. His stomach pinged as if on cue, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since dinner and drawing a grimace.

"…You mean you don't know? Surely your attorney called?"

He cast an eye over the flurry of pink 'missed call' slips that had accumulated on his desk over the morning. "Uh…that's entirely possible," he admitted. "I've been in meetings since I got here, though, so why don't you just tell me?"

"I'll do you one better," Lucius held up a finger. "Give me a second." With that, he disappeared back into the lobby, leaving a mildly confused Bruce to stare after him, shrug, and then resume his packing. "…I think _this_ is worth celebrating, don't you?" caught his attention a minute after. He looked up to see a bold front-page headline being held for him, and as he read it a wicked grin snuck onto his face.

'_CPS Scandal Rocks Gotham Social Services,'_ he absorbed the words silently. _'High-ranking social worker and director of juvenile detention institution arrested on suspicion of negligent homicide, conspiracy, other charges; held without bail; dozen-plus child victims over period of several years, including Wayne ward; plan for "pre-emptive rehabilitation program" described by Police Commissioner as "beyond reprehensible…"' _

Below the several banners announcing the main points of interest was a photo of two people being escorted from the Center in handcuffs. _'Dr. Jonas Whitney and Margine Randall are led from the Patrick Worthington Memorial Center for Boys following their arrests on multiple criminal charges,' _the caption informed readers, and Bruce's dangerously pleased expression deepened. _They caught them together,_ he smirked. _Wiping the computer, burning books, screwing…what? Oh, who the hell cares, they're behind bars._

"…Lucius," he shook his head. "This…this is _amazing_." _Even though it had to come sooner or later once I handed over that drive last night, I…I didn't know it would make me feel quite this vindicated. You're safe from that bitch now, Dicky,_ he felt his eyes grow hot. _You're going to have to testify, I'm sure, but…she can't take you from me, not now. She'll never be able to hurt another child like that again._ "Was this yours, or…?"

"No, take it! If you didn't know, maybe your family doesn't yet, either. Take it and show them the good news," the older man came around to clap him on the shoulder. "I'm no expert, but this should clear a lot of the debris off the road for you, Bruce. Dick's as good as yours now, I'm sure of it."

_He already is mine. Just not legally._ _I don't need a piece of paper to tell me that he's my son, but…this will make keeping him with me so much easier. __So__ much easier._ "…I need to get home."

"Absolutely. I'll see you Monday. You enjoy your weekend, you hear? And congratulations, Bruce, honestly. I'm so happy for you." To the billionaire's mild surprise, Lucius' eyes looked a bit misty as they shook warmly. "For all of you."

"Thanks. I'll see you Monday. You have a good weekend, too." Alone in his office once more, he folded the paper neatly and tucked it away in his bag. _Mine,_ he swiped at his cheeks once. _You're all mine, now. One down, kiddo. I know she's not completely finished yet, but…one down._

Cynthia squealed when he stepped into the lobby. "I just heard! Oh, Mr. Wayne…I'm so happy that _awful_ woman was caught…thank god she doesn't seem to have hurt your little sweetheart too much. It makes me livid to think of someone even _trying_…ugh," she wrinkled her nose. "This is good news for you, isn't it?"

"It is," he nodded. "_Very_ good news."

"Great!" she beamed. "Now…I've been meaning to ask…when are you bringing him in again?"

He almost laughed at her eagerness. _If he's this good at charming women now, I can just imagine how he'll be in ten years. _"We'll see, Cynthia. He's still settling in. Give him some time."

"Oh, of course. But you know…if you ever need a babysitter…"

"I'll keep you in mind," he promised as he passed her and headed for the stairs. _I'm far less likely to meet anyone this way than if I take the elevator,_ he logicked. _Including paparazzi. I imagine they're about ready to swarm again after that headline, if they haven't already…_

His luck held until he tried to exit the parking garage. As he pulled up to the security booth, the guard flagged him down. "It's crazy outside, Mr. Wayne," he advised. "We had to shut the gates to keep them from trying to push through, and I guess security inside your building had to threaten to call the cops to get them out of the main lobby. Give me just a second and I'll walk up ahead of you, try to clear you a path to drive through."

Bruce nodded, then followed slowly behind the man until the media throng came into view. "Holy shit," he muttered. _This might be worse than it was when Alfred brought Dick to see me,_ he considered. A charge had visibly run through the crowd as soon as someone recognized him behind the wheel, and despite the safety-vest-clad fellow urging people aside it took nearly three minutes for the front tires of the car to touch the street. Tossing a wave to his helper and speeding off before he could be encircled anew, the billionaire shook his head. _I know they mentioned that Dick was involved in the headline, but there must be something in the article itself that has them this worked up,_ he decided as he reached the safety of the highway. _I'll have to read it in full before I let him see anything more than what I have. I don't want him finding any nasty surprises…_

Alfred met him in the foyer just as he was pulling his shoes off. "Good afternoon, sir. Are you hungry? Master Dick has just sat down to his luncheon, and there's plenty for you as well."

"I'm starving. But I also have news. _Good_ news, for once," he added.

"Indeed, sir?" A curious eyebrow went up. "That's wonderful."

"Yes. Yes it is," he crowed. "Come on, I'll tell you both at the same time."

_It must be something noteworthy,_ the butler mused as he followed his elder charge into the kitchen. _You're all but glowing, and seeing as how you're two hours later than you thought you would be that comes as a bit of a surprise._ _Still, I've no plans to complain about you being in an unusually good mood._

"Bruce!"

"Hey, kiddo," he smiled as the boy abandoned his fork, leapt from his stool, and flung himself at him.

"You're home early!"

"I told you I would be, remember?"

"Well yeah, but…" He shrugged bashfully as he stepped back from their hug. "You're important. I…I thought you'd probably get caught up in stuff."

"I _did_ get caught up in stuff," the billionaire acknowledged. "I meant to be home before now. But the last person who stopped me while I was trying to leave had some news that I _think_ you're going to like."

"…Good news?" the child asked, excitement and a mild skepticism mingling in his eyes.

"I might not have believed it, either, if I hadn't seen it in print." With that he dipped into the outside pocket of his briefcase and pulled out the newspaper Lucius had gifted him with, unfolding it and holding it up so that only what he had previewed was visible to the youth. "…But it's _very_ good news for us, Dicky."

"…'High-ranking social worker and director of juvenile detention institution arrested on suspicion of negligent homicide, conspiracy, other charges, held without bail,'" Dick read out loud. "You mean…they really took her to jail?!"

"They really did, chum. Look at the picture."

"That's _her_!"

Alfred had moved around to stand beside his younger charge so that he, too, could see, and as he verified what had been recited he couldn't hold back a joyful smile. "I see the Commissioner did fine work with the evidence you provided him last night, Master Wayne," he commented. "This is quite overwhelming." _With that horrid wench locked away, perhaps we can get the courts to agree to make this the young sir's permanent home,_ he thought hopefully. _Even just long-term custody would be a massive improvement, and from there it wouldn't be so terribly difficult to try for the adoption again…_

"…Bruce?"

"What's up, kiddo?"

"…I think she's crying in the picture. My social worker."

"Ah…does that bother you?"

"No. But the fact that it _doesn't_ bother me…that kind of does."

"You've no reason to pity that woman, Master Dick," Alfred broke in from beside the boy. "We all know that she did terrible things to many people, yourself included. No one will think less of you for being pleased to see her have to account for her actions."

"I guess you're right, but…well, didn't you say someone hurt her a long time ago, Bruce, and that's maybe why she did what she…what she did?"

"Yes," his guardian concurred. "But that was no excuse for what she's done. She was hurt when she was younger, it's true; but she _chose_ to turn around and hurt others afterwards. No one forced her. You don't have to feel sorry for her, Dick. I can pretty much guarantee you that no one else will."

"Maybe…maybe that's even _more_ reason to feel sorry for her, though," he countered. "I'm not saying that I'm not glad she got caught, I'm _totally_ happy that that happened, but…I wish the bad stuff that made her be the way she is now _hadn't_ happened, you know?"

"Me, too." _Maybe then you wouldn't have come here beaten and cowering, and the adoption could have gone through the first time. But she caused you pain in just about every way possible, and as much as I wish she'd never become the way she is what she chose to do with her life leaves me absolutely no room to pity her. So far as I'm concerned she can rot behind bars for the rest of her life._ "But what's more important than that is the fact that she can't hurt you ever again. The police know all about her plan, and about the connection to Tavon, and…everything, chum. And do you know what else?"

"What?"

"_You_ helped that happen. Robin helped Batman take two dangerous people out of their cozy offices and put them where they deserve to be; in jail."

The child watched him for a moment, then smiled. "…Okay. I'm glad. She was mean, and she made a lot of people cry who didn't deserve it. So…I guess it's okay that she's crying, too."

"Good," Bruce nodded. _You can't go around feeling sorry for every lowlife we nab. You've got to understand that, no matter what their backstory, these people make choices to do terrible things to others. When we bring them to justice, it's because they've done something to deserve it. Redirecting your care onto the victims the way you just did…that's the way to do it. Although,_ he pondered, _I wonder if part of the reason you needed to be coaxed to do that this time was because you __were__ one of the victims. You didn't show this kind of remorse for the Zuccos, though…but then again, Margine Randall didn't kill your parents. Hmm…that's a hell of a quandary you've given me, kiddo. _"Now c'mere," he held out one arm, not drawing it back until he could wrap it around the boy.

"So…does this mean I get to stay here for sure now?" Dick asked, his voice muffled against the man's shoulder.

"Well, we still have to go to court about that," the billionaire explained. "And you're going to have to talk to people, maybe even a _lot_ of people, about what your social worker did to you."

"Like we talked about, right?"

"Like we talked about."

"And you'll be right there?"

"You bet I will be." _Even with everything else aside, there's no way in hell I'm leaving you in a courtroom full of strangers while Zucco might still be plotting to get his hands on you._ "But this puts us a lot closer to what we want."

"I'm so glad, Bruce. I want to stay here with you and Alfred forever."

His arm tightened as he sent a moist glance towards the butler. _Forever,_ his mind hummed happily. _Sounds good to me, chum._ "…Well, we'll just have to see what we can do about that."

"Quite," the Englishman agreed. "In the meantime, however, your lunch is cooling. If you would be so kind as to attend to it, I _may_ be able to procure some cookies for when you've finished. Given the excellent tidings Master Wayne has brought, I believe that three apiece is perfectly appropriate."

"…_Three_ cookies?" Dick verified delightedly.

"Do you think it excessive, young sir?" the butler asked seriously. "I can scale it back some, if you'd prefer…"

"No!" was yelped immediately in reply. "…Oh. You were teasing me," he added as he turned from Bruce and saw the glint in the older man's eye. "That's sneaky, Alfred, 'cause no one expects you to tease them."

"No? Well, I daresay you'll get used to it."

"Yeah. Especially since that lady can _never, ever_ take me away now," the boy stressed ecstatically, rising up and down on his toes in sheer happiness. "…Bruce? Will you eat with me, or do you have to go right to work again in your study?"

_Look at you. You're literally bouncing with joy. I can't walk away when you're doing that, especially not if we're getting cookies afterwards. _"…The paperwork will wait until after lunch, chum," he ruffled his hair. _Right now, I've got more important things to do._

**Author's Note: I just wanted to throw out a big thank you to every one of you who have read this far, and double thanks to those who have favorited the story and/or reviewed. You guys make this all worthwhile. :D Happy reading!**


	92. Chapter 92

"…Alfred, did the police show up while I was out?" Bruce asked as the butler cleared away their dishes a short time later.

"No, sir. I was rather beginning to wonder about that myself."

"Is…is that bad, Bruce?" Dick asked. "I mean…if someone shows up, you can't be Batman, so…we really need the police, don't we?"

"Yeah, we kind of do, kiddo." _I'd figure out some way to work around kicking the asses of Zucco's men as a civilian if I had to, but I'd rather it didn't come to that._ "If they don't show, though," he added, "you're still safe with Alfred and I. We wouldn't let anything happen to you."

"I know, but…"

"But what?"

"Well, I don't want you to get in trouble trying to keep bad guys away from me."

The billionaire just shook his head. _Would you think about yourself first every once in a while, kiddo? _"We wouldn't, chum. Trust me, we're _really_ good at coming up with excuses. You'll learn how to do that, too, once we start your training."

_That_ earned him a delighted grin. "Training. Oh, crud, I haven't been to the gym yet today!" the boy's eyes widened. "I'll go right now," he made to hop down from his stool.

"You'll do no such thing, young sir," Alfred stopped him. "You just finished lunch, and it needs time to settle. I must ask you to refrain from any strenuous physical activity for at least an hour, please."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I forgot," he blushed slightly.

"You can come with me to the study if you want," Bruce offered. "I have paperwork I have to start on, but you can sit in one of the desk chairs and read."

"Sure!" the beaming expression returned to the child's face. "But…aren't we going to call and see about the police?"

"We'll call from the study." _Waiting until morning is one thing, but this is ridiculous. _

"That sounds good," he agreed, then skipped over to take the man's hand. "Can we go? I finished _Don Quixote_, so I need to pick out something new to read."

"…If I might make a suggestion, Master Dick?" the Englishman broke in. He'd noted that his younger charge had read nothing but classics since his arrival at the manor, and while he was hardly going to complain about the fact that the boy gravitated towards challenging material he felt it prudent to sprinkle more child-centered literature into the mix. _Master Wayne eschewed children's books for the most part,_ he had mused upon finding the nearly-completed Cervantes offering beside the youth's bed. _You have a greater tolerance for whimsy than he did at your age, and I don't want to see that ebb any sooner than necessary. You're still a child, even if far too much of your innocence has already been siphoned away; perhaps giving you something written with young people in mind will help preserve what youthful wonder you have left._

"Is there something you think I should read, Alfred?"

"There is, young sir," he answered, feeling Bruce's curious gaze on him but ignoring it in favor of the eagerly listening boy. "Have you perchance read any of the _Harry Potter_ books?"

"I read part of one once, when…when mom took me to the library. But I didn't get very far, because we couldn't check it out and people had always borrowed the copies at other libraries. It was good. But…I didn't see any of them in the library here," he frowned.

"No, you wouldn't have. However, I have the full set in my rooms, and would be happy to lend them to you if you'd like."

"Really?! That would be _so cool_, Alfred! I always wanted to read more of them, I just…never got a chance."

"Well, you shall have one now, then," the butler bucked him up before he could think too long on _why_ he would no longer be scouring small town libraries for Rowling's series. "If you'd like to go on ahead with Master Wayne, I'll bring the first book in to you momentarily."

"Are you ready, then?" Bruce asked, rising. As little as he liked the idea of magic, he was confident enough that his son's head wouldn't be overwhelmed by it that he didn't object to the proposal. _I was going to suggest 'Around the World in 80 Days,'_ _but this is okay, too. I'm sure Alfred wouldn't suggest something he hadn't checked out beforehand, and plenty of other kids seem to like the stories, so…whatever makes him happy._

"Yes! I'm so excited…see you in a minute, Alfred!" he waved as they stepped into the corridor. "…Bruce?" he ventured when they were out of earshot of the kitchen. "Later, could we-"

The chiming of the doorbell interrupted his question. The billionaire jerked to a stop, his eyes narrowing as they focused on the entrance. "…Dick, I want you to go wait at the end of the hallway," he ordered, nudging him towards the passage down which lay the entrance to the cave. "Stay quiet and hidden until I call you. Do what we talked about last night if you need to. Got it?"

_I'm not going to just run away and leave you and Alfred behind,_ the child thought stubbornly even as he obeyed. _Although if Superman came to help, that would be awesome. But…it wouldn't matter how cool it was if they…if they killed you…while I was calling him. _Gulping, he took up a position in the shadows and waited, listening intently.

"Master Wayne," Alfred's voice could be heard as he hustled into the foyer. "I'll get the door, sir."

"…No, I'll get it." _I don't want either of you hurt if this is someone who isn't supposed to be here. Stay back so that there's someone else to buy time for Dick if they get past me._

_You're terribly jumpy this afternoon,_ the older man arched an eyebrow. _I understand your concern, but this is unlikely to be anyone other than the police. Zucco's men would be fools to walk up to the front in broad daylight, and that's assuming that they could get past the gate at all. _"It would look rather odd, don't you think? Why on earth do you employ a butler if you're going to answer your own door?"

"I…shit," Bruce muttered. "Fine. Go ahead." _Appearances. Always goddamn __appearances__, _he cursed silently as he stepped back.

"It appears to be the authorities, sir," Alfred informed him upon glancing through the peephole. "Good afternoon," he greeted them a moment later.

"Officers Roberts and Tabor," one answered. "We've been assigned to watch the property."

"I'll need to see badges, if you don't mind."

"Sure."

As shields appeared, the billionaire moved up to see. "Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?" the Englishman asked after a moment.

"…Yeah. They can come in." _They're Gotham cops,_ he admitted as the new arrivals passed through the doorway. _And Ralph said that Tony's arms didn't extend much outside of Newtown. If nothing else he said was true, I'm confident that that part was, if only because I'd never heard of the Zuccos before. That being the case, the odds of him having a pair of local officers on his payroll are slim to none. These two match their ID pictures, so they didn't lift their stuff off of anyone. Still, though…_ "You're late," he stated as they all drew to a halt in the middle of the room. "We expected you this morning."

"The Commissioner wanted us to extend his apologies," the second man spoke. "There were supposed to be men here then, but they got pulled to deal with the CPS mess. Some asshole up in Bludhaven went crazy this morning and dragged their cops on a car chase all the way down here, too, so there was a roadblock detail that no one was expecting. We came as soon as we could. Anyway, we're supposed to stay outside for patrolling purposes. This place is huge, so if you have an emergency," he pulled a radio out of his pocket and handed it to the butler, "you can call us on this, and we'll come running. 911 would work too, it'll just take a bit longer for them to relay to us that there's a problem. So…that's about it. Replacements will come in every twelve hours until we receive different orders. Any questions?"

"…I beg pardon, but Master Wayne, where is Master Dick?" Alfred inquired, a hint of worry edginghis words as he realized that the primary reason the police were there to patrol wasn't in sight.

"I told him to hide until we knew who was at the door," Bruce defended himself.

"Probably a good idea," the first officer agreed. "I'd have done the same thing if it was _my_ kid that guy was after. No point in taking chances."

The billionaire gave him a long, appraising look, then nodded once. "Exactly."

"Very well, sir, but don't you think he ought to come out now?" the butler asked patiently. _Having him hide was all well and good before we knew who was at the door, but I believe we can safely say that these men intend quite the opposite of harm to him._

"…Right. Dick?"

He emerged from the hallway silently, slipping up to his guardian's side and standing close against his leg as he regarded the police. "Hello," he said finally. "Are…you're here to protect us, right?" _I think you are – Bruce and Alfred wouldn't have let you inside if they didn't think that, too – but…it would be weird for a grown up to ask you something like that, and maybe if you __aren't__ you'll be dumb enough to blurt it out._

"That's exactly what we're here to do, kid," the second officer answered with a slight smile. "So if something's wrong, you just tell us, all right?"

"Umm…" He peered at them both curiously for a long moment. _…That's kind of a weird thing to say, isn't it?_ "Sure. I will. But nothing's wrong so long as no one's trying to take me away from here or hurt any of us."

"Well, I'm glad we're all on the same page, then."

"Yeah," Bruce frowned slightly. _…That was an odd request, and I don't like what it implies. That made it sound like you're here to watch __us__ as much as you are to watch for kidnappers or murderers. "_We are. Alfred will answer any questions you have. I've got work to do, and _you_," he rested a hand on Dick's shoulder, "have a new book to start reading."

"I'll bring it in for you when I've finished with these men, young sir," the butler assured.

"Okay, Alfred. Thanks." As the billionaire closed the study door behind them a minute later, the boy's face grew pensive. "…Bruce?"

"Yeah, chum?" he replied, staring at the portal with an equally thoughtful expression.

"Why did that one man say that? About telling them if something's wrong? I mean…they're the police, I would think that was kind of…you know…obvious." He paused. "You don't think that he's trying to get bad stuff on you for my social worker, do you?"

"Not for her, no, because she's out of the picture and they know it. But it's possible that someone else in her department, or even in the police, asked one or both of them to keep an eye out for things that could be used to take you from me." _God damn it, just when it seems like something's finally coming to a conclusion…_

"They won't find anything," Dick said stolidly. "And I'll swear to a judge that you'd never hurt me, so they're wasting their time."

The remark provoked an uptwitch in Bruce's lips, but it wasn't quite enough to satisfy his worry. "Thanks, kiddo. But we're going to nip this in the bud right now." With that, he crossed to the phone on his desk and dialed a memorized number.

"…Who're you calling?" the boy asked as he snuggled into one of the visitors' chairs.

"The Commissioner. I don't want his officers distracted from their real task here – keeping Zucco's men at bay – if they _do_ have orders to make notes for CPS."

"Oh. But…what if _he's_ the one who ordered it?"

_He isn't,_ sat on the edge of the billionaire's tongue as the line was picked up. _But I can't say that without an explanation. You're too smart to just take that kind of assurance at face value, especially considering everything that's gone on with social services of late._ Knowing that, he held up one finger, asking his son to wait. "Hello? This is Bruce Wayne. I need to speak with Commissioner Gordon…well, when will he be back in?...I see. No, I understand, family obligations _should_ come first…" _They really ought to,_ he acknowledged in his head. _Gordon and I just aren't the sort of men who are usually very good at keeping to that philosophy…_ "Yes, please do. Thank you."

"…He wasn't in?"

"No, his daughter has a program of some sort at school this afternoon." _School. Shit. I haven't even been thinking about what to do with you about school…_ He shook himself back to the topic at hand. "I left a message for him to call me at the first opportunity."

"Oh."

"Anyway," he sat and leaned over the desk towards the child, "you asked about the Commissioner having ordered these officers to look for ammunition for CPS. My answer to that is that I absolutely do _not_ believe that to be the case."

"Why?" came immediately.

_I knew you'd ask that, clever boy._ "Because while I don't know him as anything more than a social acquaintance as Bruce Wayne," he dropped his voice, "_Batman_ works with him all the time. Jim Gordon was a top-notch cop, Dicky, but he was a _cautious_ cop, too, especially when it came to dealing with his superiors and those with influence. That doesn't mean that he won't pursue powerful people when they've done something wrong; what that means is that he's not stupid enough to jump to conclusions without hard evidence. If I know his method, he's looked into the paperwork that's been filed in family court for our case. What that means is that he's seen all of the good things that people like our attorneys have said as well as all of the bad things Randall has tried to pin on me."

"…How is that _good_? We don't want him to see all the bad stuff, do we?"

"If any of it was true, no, we wouldn't. But it _isn't_ true, and Jim Gordon is the kind of cop who looks at what isn't present in a case as closely as he does at what is. And I guarantee you, chum, that the first thing he would have seen when he looked over the files for our case is that, no matter how many things she's accused me of, your social worker – excuse me, _former_ social worker – hasn't been able to produce a shred of evidence for them. That's what he will be working from, Dick; the evidence. She had none, and given that she failed to come up with anything despite how hard she tried and what he knows about her now I can't believe that he would think it anything but a waste of time to pursue the CPS angle against me."

"So," the boy shifted in his chair, pulling his lower lip back between his teeth as he worked things out in his head, "do you think maybe…maybe he didn't even mean anything by it? The policeman? Who would give him the order to look for CPS stuff if the Commissioner doesn't think it's going to go anywhere?"

"I don't know. Maybe nobody," Bruce admitted. "Maybe it was a passing question that wasn't intended to do anything but reassure you that they're here to help. Maybe _he_ believes that there's something more going on, and was digging for himself; just because he's here for his job doesn't mean that he's impartial, and there have been a lot of rumors flying around these last few weeks. Or maybe someone in CPS or under Gordon in the police force _did_ ask, order, or bribe him to look for better evidence. I don't know. And I'll confess, chum, that now that we've talked about it I'm far less certain that there was any subtext at all there. But…I could be wrong. And when it comes to keeping you here with me," he said softly, "I'm going to stick with the 'better safe than sorry' method. Until I talk to the Commissioner and have him double checking that no one is trying to use this patrol as a way to find – well, to make up – evidence against me, I'm going to be suspicious. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I'll be suspicious of them too, okay?"

"…Okay," the billionaire agreed, pasting on the smile worn by all fathers when they recognize an attempt by their child to imitate them in some small but heartfelt way. "You do that, and if there _is_ something to our suspicion, we'll beat it together. Deal?"

Dick flashed nearly every tooth in his head. "Deal!"

**Author's Note: Sorry for the late post, I'm a bit under the weather. Happy reading!**


	93. Chapter 93

By the time Batman arrived at GPD headquarters the following evening, his feelings towards the Commissioner were a fair bit less positive than they had been some thirty-six hours earlier. _An update would be nice,_ he thought grappled to the rooftop. _It's only a child's life at stake, after all. Gordon knows the score, he heard every word Ralph said. The Feds wouldn't even __have__ Zucco if it weren't for Robin and I, the least they can do is let me interrogate him._

Although his hackles were up over the continuing silence regarding his interview with Tony, the weekend had been a good one thus far. Shortly after he and Dick had adjourned to the civilian gym the previous afternoon, Alfred had appeared in the doorway with the phone in his hand. The acrobat had put his efforts at modifying another floor routine to be combat-effective on hold in order to come closer, dropping to the floor cross-legged in front of his guardian and panting slightly as he listened.

"Commissioner," Bruce greeted, turning on his businessman voice. "I'm sorry I missed your call last night, I was already in bed. I appreciate your warning a great deal…I'm sorry?" He paused. "Yes, they finally arrived about an hour and a half ago. That's why I was calling, as a matter of fact. I was wondering…it seems silly now, to be honest, but I wanted to make sure that there weren't any orders outstanding for your officers to run an investigation for CPS while they're here…. Well, I wouldn't have thought so either, but one of the men currently on patrol made an odd comment when we were running through introductions. There's nothing for them to dig up in that regard, as I think Ms. Randall's numerous failures to do so demonstrate, but with the way the entire custody process has gone for us thus far I'm sure you understand my concern…yes…no, that would be more than sufficient, Commissioner, thank you. Yes, you do the same. Goodbye."

"Were we right?" Dick asked from the floor after a second of silence passed. "Are the police looking for stuff to…what's the word…incriminate you?"

"No," he shook his head. "At least not that Gordon's aware of. But he's going to look into it. Furthermore, he said he's going to have the officers up here switched out as soon as possible."

"So…if they aren't here for CPS, could…could they be working for Zucco?" the boy whispered seriously.

"The more I think about it, the more I'm reasonably certain that they _aren't_ working for him." Seeing a teaching opportunity, he began to elaborate. "For one thing, Gordon verified that they've been dealing with a manpower crunch all day today. In that case, the delay in the police arriving may very well have been legitimate. On top of that, short of Zucco having had a fairly extensive and independently operating extension in Gotham before all of this went down, I don't see any way that he could have managed to ensure that one of his guys was part of the pair that came up on the first round. Even if he'd somehow managed to build up a web of contacts without Batman catching wind of it, the odds of him having a GCPD officer on the take who was high enough in the ranks of both the department _and_ the Zucco organization to coordinate this are virtually zero. If that person existed, he or she would have to have found out that officers were being sent here, known or found out what Zucco wanted done, maneuvered to make sure it was people from their own staff who were sent, and then have had someone available to go who was below them and _also_ on the take, and who would accept secret orders from them besides.

"Considering the very short timeframe they would have had in which to do all of that, I don't believe that's the situation at all. Furthermore, Zucco hadn't even _really_ finished taking over Newtown when he was arrested. He still had the other four bosses to deal with, even if they were under his thumb more or less. Quindley was eager to buck the reins, which is why he talked to Batman, and he said that at least one of the other bosses was at the same point. Keeping Newtown under control, developing a new project to move terrorists covertly, _and_ stealthily establishing a network in Gotham, all while still sending out raw chemicals in bulk? Neither Tony nor Ralph Zucco are pushovers, but I find it difficult to believe that they were managing all of that. Now, split up and in prison…no. The odds of everything we just discussed falling into place and resulting in one of the officers outside working for Zucco are astronomical. So, be cautious still," he instructed, "but don't be _so_ cautious that you're jumping at shadows when there's nothing there."

Dick, wide-eyed and grinning, was listening raptly. "…That was _so_ awesome, Bruce."

"What was?"

"Everything you just said. You just laid it all out, and it makes _perfect sense_. I hadn't even thought about some of that stuff. The fact that there would have had to be people already working for Zucco in Gotham? I totally missed that! And you were just, like, connecting it to eight hundred other things, and…wow," he hugged his knees, gazing up at his guardian with a star-struck mien. "I wish I could have thought of it that way instead of being…you know…kind of scared that they _did_ work for Zucco."

The billionaire felt a heavy warmth suffuse him under the child's worshipful stare. "You'll get there, chum," he promised. "That's part of your training, too. Or it will be in a couple of weeks, at least. And speaking of training, now that you know they _aren't_ Zucco's men and Gordon in sending up replacements just in case they're looking for evidence for CPS, don't you think it's about time you got back to yours?" _You looked so determined when you were out there a little bit ago. It was kind of…well…cute. _

"Yes!" Not needing further encouragement to entice him to resume his practicing, he'd rolled to his feet and cartwheeled back to the mats. They'd stayed in the gym almost until dinner, Bruce doing a little weight training of his own in between coaching his son; adjusting a foot for a more powerful kick, showing him a useful angle for elbowing, giving feedback on the sequences that the child seemed to have a knack for developing.

In recognition of the excellent news they'd received earlier in the day Alfred had served them steaks for their evening meal, following up the already hearty meal with ice cream sundaes that drew a squeak of delight from his younger charge. Full to bursting, Bruce and Dick had lumbered into the den and settled before the television, neither paying much attention to what was on as they passed in and out of light food-induced dozes. Only when the billionaire looked down to find the boy completely out did he rouse himself in order to carry him upstairs. The figure in his arms didn't make so much as a peep until he'd pulled the covers up and was about to step away. "…Bruce?"

"Hmm? What's up, kiddo?" he sat back down.

"Could…could we talk?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"It's…it's the book Alfred gave me to read. I know I should probably talk to him about this, since he's the one who gave it to me, but…I think you'll understand better."

The billionaire narrowed his eyes, trying to recall what little he knew about the series the butler had recommended, and a glimmer of a recollection made its way to the front of his brain. …_Wait. The whole premise is that his parents are murdered, and he ends up fighting the prick who did it, right? Shit. Why didn't I remember that earlier? Not that I pay a whole lot of attention to children's literature, but still, what an oversight to have made, genius. And what the __hell__ was Alfred thinking? _"Oh. Aah…Dick, if you don't want to read them, I'm sure Alfred-"

"No, that's the thing! I…I _do_ want to." His arms appeared above the covers, hands wringing as he chewed at his lip. "And I've been thinking about it, and…it seems kind of weird to me. I mean…well, Alfred brought all the books up here so that I can read them at my own pace, right? And I looked ahead a little bit when I was changing for dinner, and I kind of already knew some stuff, too, but…well, he wins in the end. He gets the bad guy. And I know it's _totally_ different, but…it's sort of like Robin, isn't it? I mean…I've only read part of the first book, except that other part I read with…with mom…but he's just naturally _good_ at magic, sort of like…like how Robin's good at acrobatics. And…well…I don't know. I want to know how he does it, how he got to where he could beat the guy. And I know we already got Zucco, but…I still want to know, you know?"

Bruce watched him for a long moment. "So why do you feel weird about it, then?" he asked finally.

"Well…I feel like it should have upset me more, I guess. I mean, you find out his parents are dead, and that after that he got sent to this…terrible place…" He gulped. "But then he gets rescued when his letter to Hogwarts comes. And…I guess I feel like I should be upset by how similar it is, like it should be a reminder of bad things, and it _is_, Bruce, but…but I know that he wins in the end, and that makes it…not okay, but…I mean…I was upset for a minute, you know? At the beginning. _Just_ for a minute. And then I realized that he was going to get to go to a really awesome place and do awesome stuff, and…and I wasn't so upset any more. That…doesn't that make me a bad…well…a bad son? 'Oh, they're dead, that's awful, but at least now he gets to be in a cool place!' It feels _wrong_, Bruce. I don't know, I'm confused…" He gave his guardian a teary, pleading look. "Help?"

_Jesus, where do I even start? _he gaped at him. "Dick, did Harry Potter deserve to be in that awful place you mentioned?" he managed fumblingly.

"No. Of course not."

"So he deserved to go to the good place afterwards. Hogwarts."

"Well, yeah."

"So justice was done in the end. He got what he really deserved, even though he had to live through difficulties that weren't his fault in the least. Right?"

Now it was the boy's turn to let his jaw drop slightly. "I…I hadn't thought of it that way," he whispered. "I guess so, but…"

"Look, chum," Bruce cut him off. "There's nothing wrong with being able to identify with this character, especially since you know that he succeeds in the end. Just like _you_ did," he stressed. "Enjoying those books, even if the story is like your own…that doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't mean that you don't still love and miss your parents. To be honest, the fact that you want to know what happens next, how he gets through it…maybe you aren't just looking for how he beats the bad guy. Maybe you're looking for how he lives his life despite what happened to his parents. And that's okay, kiddo. That's _good_. It's especially good if you get enjoyment out of it at the same time that you get comfort." He bent down until their foreheads were leaning together, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. "Don't be afraid to let people and things that you enjoy make the pain a little less," he urged. "If you like those stories, then read them. There is absolutely no shame in it whatsoever. And I promise you, Dicky, that your parents wouldn't think you were a bad son. They'd just be glad that something made you feel better. Okay?"

He'd smiled at that, his posture relaxing under his guardian's benediction. "Thank you. I…you make me feel a lot better, too, you know. Way more than a book ever could."

"…Yeah. I know the feeling," the billionaire smiled back. "Sleep tight, kiddo," he wished finally, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he prepared to depart.

"G'night, Bruce," was murmured back, the boy's eyes already half-closed. "Love you…"

He'd frozen at that, clamping his teeth down on the insides of his cheeks in shock. "I-" _…I can't say it,_ he'd lamented. _I know I…I just…__fuck__!_ "…Alfred will be up in a minute to sit with you until I get back." _That was pathetic, Wayne. He tells you that he loves you, and you respond with __that__. Jesus Christ. Dicky…I…please don't have any nightmares,_ he flailed._ And if you do, don't let them be as bad as the one last night. Please, just…just good dreams. You deserve nothing less than that._

His most fervent wishes weren't quite enough to banish the dark visions that lurked behind the youth's eyes during sleep, however, and it was with no surprise at all that he'd returned home from a rather prosaic patrol to find that the boy and butler had switched venues to the master suite. It took Alfred reminding him that the police, who true to the Commissioner's word had been replaced hours before, had been specifically ordered to watch the exterior of the building to convince him that he could crawl into bed without risk of further scandal. Once that worry had been soothed and Dick had curled against him in his normal manner, the night and early morning had flown by, unrecognized by his slumbering brain.

It was only when he'd opened his eyes to find himself alone that he'd had a bad moment. "Kiddo?" he voiced blearily, peering towards the bathroom as he sat up. _…The door's open. He's not in there. So where…?_ Throwing on the previous day's clothes, he stumbled across the hall only to find the other occupied bedroom equally empty. "Kiddo?!" he repeated, a note of fear nestling between those two simple syllables as he jogged down the stairs. Kitchen, den, library, gym…all proved empty. _Not this again,_ he cursed. _The other night was bad enough, but this…they aren't downstairs, either, and unless Alfred came in and got him out of bed he would have been alone once he left my room…where else could they have gone, though? With the way things are, surely they wouldn't have left for the store or someplace else without waking me, or leaving a note, or…or __something__…_

_Maybe he asked to see more of the house now that he's comfortable with the main area,_ his mind scrambled as he crossed the foyer. _Maybe…maybe…_ He threw open the front door in a borderline panic, prepared to stomp his way across the gravel drive to the garage in the hope that they had retreated there for some strange reason, and jerked to a stop. _…Oh. Oh, thank god…_

"Hi, Bruce!" Dick popped up from his seat on the uppermost stair to fling himself at the man whose fingernails were digging into the frame as he tried not to let his relief, and with it the depth of his fear, appear on his face. "You remember Officer Lacey, right?"

_Lacey…the one who came with Randall for the inspection,_ he recognized the uniformed man instantly. _More importantly, the one who was very clearly __not__ on her side._ "Officer Lacey," he stepped forward, offering the hand the wasn't occupied with needily cupping the back of his son's head. "A pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne," the policeman stuttered slightly as they shook. "…I have to say, this is a pretty easy gig. Not that we're not being vigilant," he added quickly. "Trust me, neither Latoya or I – Latoya, that's Officer Green, she's walking the perimeter right now – want anything to happen on our watch."

"Officer Lacey was telling me about birds of prey," Dick contributed. "There was a falcon in one of the trees earlier. We were watching it. He knows all sorts of stuff about raptors."

"…How long have you been out here, chum?" Bruce frowned. _And where the hell is Alfred?_

"…Maybe an hour? I helped Alfred bring coffee and crullers out, and now he's watering the porch plants. He said he wouldn't be long out back, so he should be here in a minute, I think."

"We have crullers?" the billionaire arched an interested eyebrow, adrenaline ebbing as he accepted that the boy at his side was, in fact, perfectly fine.

"He made them last night. There's none left out here, but he saved some in the kitchen. He left you fresh coffee to go with them when you woke up, too."

"My partner was raving about that coffee. It's good stuff. Here she is now, as a matter of fact," Lacey gestured towards an approaching officer. "We'll be switched out soon," he glanced at his watch. "It's a shame, that coffee was so good I don't want to go to sleep now."

"Switched out?" _Damn. I was actually comfortable with you here…_ "Do you know who's coming on in your place?"

"No, but everyone they had on the list for this job is a good guy. Or gal," he amended as Green drew up beside him and threw Dick a smile. "And we'll be back up here tonight. They're trying to keep the same people around so that we're more likely to notice anything off."

"You got it, rookie," Green teased the younger cop good-naturedly. "Did you make him tell you all about that bird you spotted?" she directed at the child.

"Yes. He told me _tons_ of stuff."

"See? I told you, Lacey, you should have been an ornithologist, not a cop."

"I like being a cop," he shrugged.

"Wait…Dick, _you_ found the falcon in the tree?" Bruce asked.

"Yup!"

"He's got good eyes, Mr. Wayne," Green said frankly. "Maybe _you_ should be a cop someday, huh? You sure did pick that bird out easy, I'll bet you can do the same things with bad guys."

"Maybe," the boy blushed at the compliment.

_Aah, how about no?_ rolled through the billionaire's head. _Going after criminals at night is more than enough. I don't really want to think about you doing it 24/7. That just doubles the chance of something happening, and I…no. You can do so much more than that, Dicky. No offense to the police, but…you have so much more to offer._ "Did you eat?" he asked, changing the subject before it went any further.

"No," he tilted his head back to meet his eyes. "I wanted to wait for you."

_Of course you did. _"Okay. Well, why don't you say goodbye, and we'll go do that?"

"Sure. Bye, Officer Green, bye, Officer Lacey. Thanks for telling me about the falcon, that was really neat."

The rest of Saturday had passed more-or-less idyllically, with the only pout occurring when it was time for Bruce to head downstairs to prepare for the JLA meeting. His absence at the mountain during the past few weeks had clearly been noted, and as if the typical jokes that that fact drew weren't enough it was painfully obvious that Flash and Wonder Woman were well aware of _why_ he'd been out. He'd borne their respectively curious and encouraging looks silently, sending a glare out whenever he caught one of them staring at him blatantly.

Freed finally from that unusually miserable bout of purgatory, he'd wasted no time in heading for downtown. As he stepped up to the Commissioner's desk – _if he jumps it's his own goddamn fault, he should be expecting me after forty-eight hours of silence – _it took a great deal of self-control to keep from announcing himself with a growl. "Gordon," he ground out instead.

"Shit!" the other man exclaimed, nearly overturning his chair as he looked up from his paperwork. "Batman…are you _ever_ going to not give me half a heart attack when you come in?"

"Are _you_ ever going to give me an answer regarding Tony Zucco?" came back immediately.

"…Oh. Yes, I meant to speak to you about that. I just got caught up in these transfer forms, and…well. You're not going to be happy, Batman."

_So the answer is no,_ the vigilante steamed. _Fucking Fed bastards._ "They wouldn't have him at all if it weren't for me," he snarled. _And Robin, but you don't need to know about him yet. No one does. Not until he's ready._

"I know that, and _they_ know that," the Commissioner soothed. "They _would_ have let you – I heard back from the head of the federal investigation this afternoon, and he was fine with it so long as they could use anything he told you in court – but…things changed before it was late enough for me to put the signal up for you."

"…Explain."

"Well, it's simple, and…unfortunate. These transfer forms are for Ralph Zucco," he stated. "I've been ordered to pass him into federal custody."

…_What?_ "Why? What else has come to light?"

"Nothing," Gordon grimaced. "There's no new evidence or testimony. The Feds are taking Ralph because Tony Zucco is dead."


	94. Chapter 94

"…Dead," the vigilante repeated. _Lovely._ _The Feds taking Ralph Zucco makes it sound like they think he ordered his brother's murder…in that case, he's a hell of a lot more talented than I've been giving him credit for. If he orchestrated the killing of another man – of family, no less – while both he and the…victim…were behind bars in separate places,_ his throat tightened slightly, _then two police officers are scant security for the house. _"Dead of _what_?" _How did Ralph do it? Maybe if I know that I can figure out how he'd likely to strike at Dick. If he goes for him at all; he did say that was Tony's grudge, but then if he took out his own brother who can tell what the hell was true out of everything he said._

"A heart attack."

Batman went still for a moment, staring at the Commissioner. "…A heart attack." _You must be joking._

"Yes. They're running toxicology to see if he was given something to induce it, but the staff physician who responded when the guards called the problem in stated that it seemed to be a perfectly natural occurrence. On top of that, I guess Ralph's pretty shaken up about it. Either that or he's got it figured out that he's the one Homeland Security is going to try and pin as much on as possible now. I don't know, Batman, I can't make him out. Normally I'm pretty good at that, at least when it comes to the ones who aren't out and out insane, but…not him."

_I know the feeling,_ the cowled man grimaced. "Will they be able to make any of the charges they had against Tony stick to Ralph?" _Even if he really isn't the one who ordered the Graysons' murders, I don't want him on the streets. _

"They seem pretty confident about several of the bigger items. Admitting to running the books is going to hurt him, especially."

"Good."

"I agree. I hate to say this, but…I'm glad this didn't happen a few weeks down the road, after Ralph's plea bargain had been finalized. I'm sorry the man's dead, of course, but…well. There's a silver lining to everything, I suppose."

"…I want to talk to Ralph again." He didn't realize what he was going to say until it had already fallen out of his mouth, but he didn't regret the request.

"What more can you get out of him, do you think? It sounded like he told you everything."

"…Strong emotions bring up old memories. If he's as upset over Tony's death as you say he is, his grief may be…useful."

"'_Useful_'?" Gordon gaped slightly. "That's…blunt of you."

"Do you have an objection to my attempting to extract information that could save the Grayson boy's life?" Batman asked a bit more sharply than he'd intended.

"No, but your callous attitude about his personal loss is a bit…ah…off-putting, even if he is a criminal."

"Are you telling me you've never used a prisoner's mental or emotional instability against them in order to gain crucial intelligence, Commissioner?" His voice was icy as the other man looked away with a faint air of shame.

"…No, Batman. I'm not telling you that," he sighed. "But that doesn't mean I enjoyed it."

"It's necessary." _Besides,_ he didn't add, _I'm relatively confident that Dick will enjoy being able to go outside and play on his own more than I won't enjoy questioning a distraught Ralph Zucco._

"He's in the same cell as the other night. I'll…I'll take you to him." Shaking his head, he turned away from his desk and exited, the vigilante at his heels.

"Zucco," the vigilante addressed the jumpsuited man staring red-eyed at the cracked concrete below his feet a few minutes later.

"…I don't know anything else," came back immediately. "I gave you everything."

"Was Tony running anything from behind bars? Projects, hits?"

"I don't _fucking_ know, all right? What kind of a time is this to ask something like that? Jesus…Tony…I tried to warn you, you stupid son of a…ugh…"

"Warn him of what?" Batman pounced.

"None of your…oh, what the hell. What's the point in protecting family secrets when there's no family left? Not that's it's so much a secret as…well…Tony didn't like people knowing his problems, you know? He was a private sort of person. Usually that doesn't…didn't…extend to me, but like I already said he'd been cutting me out lately. Anyway…well, he doesn't-" he broke off, held his breath for a minute, then continued "-_didn't_ handle stress very well. When his projects were all running smooth, he was okay, but if someone crossed him, or if he thought someone was screwing him over, he'd get worked up. Been like that ever since he was a kid. He used to throw the _worst_ temper tantrums…people would look at our poor mother like she was a terrible parent, but that was just Tony. He liked getting his way, and god help anyone who didn't move out of the way fast enough.

"Anyway…he used to work out his frustration fighting. Back…back in the early days he'd go out to seedy bars when something went awry, have a few drinks, and find some stupid reason to beat the ever-loving shit out of whatever poor sop looked at him crosswise first. Later, once we had a bit of money under our belts and there were more than a couple people working for us, he'd get the boys to bring him somebody off the streets or that we were having trouble with, and he'd smack them around instead. Then when we out in Montana a few years ago we had a real close call. Tony knew the cops were getting suspicious, starting to sniff around, all of that, and it drove him crazy. So one night he sends out for someone to abuse, just to blow off some steam, you know? The problem was, his men got caught making the pickup. They found this homeless guy in an alleyway, drunk off of his ass, and figured hey, easy pickings. He was too plastered to sit up, let alone walk, so they picked him up and started tucking him into the trunk. Can't really blame them for not wanting him in the backseat, the guy probably _reeked_ – have you ever smelled a down-and-dirty homeless person? It's not exactly like taking a walk in your ma's rose garden – so who could blame them? Point is, a patrol drove by right in the middle of it and interrupted.

"That was kind of an epiphany for Tony. If either of those guys had rolled, we'd have been done. Just in case he didn't already know that, I made sure to tell him. I told him to find another hobby, something he could do when he was upset that would calm him down and didn't involve breaking skulls without good cause. We both knew that the next time we might not get so lucky. But I guess I should have been more specific," he snarked at himself. "He found another outlet, but unfortunately it was food."

"He'd been in good shape up to that point, but…he had a lot of stress, and that was _before_ we came to Newtown. Taking over the city wasn't all easy sailing. There were a lot of issues, things that he'd never even _thought_ might happen. He kept coming to me for advice, and I kept telling him, Tony, this isn't my department, Tony, you need to eat better, Tony, you have to quit switching doctors every time one tells you that you need to diet, exercise, and take medicine…but he didn't listen. He just kept drowning his problems with food, and…well, you saw him when you caught him. He got fat these last few years, but he didn't get jolly. If anything, the extra weight made him angrier. Pile on the circus failure and you coming in and busting us…I told him," he wound down wearily. "I told him he was going to give himself a goddamn heart attack if he kept going like he was. I _told_ him, and he didn't listen, and…and it finally happened, just like I said. _Fuck_, Tony…"

Batman watched in silence as the remaining Zucco brother bent forward and dropped his forehead into his hands. "…Are there any operations being run by either of you from jail?" he pressed after a brief moment.

"…No. Not that I know of, at least. _I_ don't have any."

"Are there any operations that had been set up before your arrests that could run without guidance?"

"I don't think so. I don't think he had a chance to do anything else after that photographer, Anazas, got himself caught. Tony wanted the kid, I know that, but from what I overheard Wayne's got him guarded _tight_."

_You're damn straight he is,_ the vigilante snarled internally as he came to the most crucial question. "…Do _you_ have designs on the boy for any reason?"

"Look, I'm…I'm not Tony, okay? It was stupid to have killed his parents, and it was twice as stupid to keep going after him when he didn't die during the act. Do I hold Tony's…death…against him? No. Not really. What would be the point? The kid didn't have anything to do with us until he was dragged into it, and it's not like he's going to come back down the line and try to avenge his parents' deaths or something. This isn't the movies."

_No, it isn't. Besides…he's already done everything he reasonably can to balance the scales,_ Batman thought.

"…The little shit can grow up safe and sound to be President, for all I care," Ralph went on. "He got caught in the crossfire of my brother's stubbornness, and now I'm paying for it. No…if I blame anyone other than Tony himself for all of this, it's _you_. He might have gotten over the stress of the circus incident, but getting bested by a guy in a pointy-eared hat…he couldn't move past that, not after evading veteran cops for two decades. That had to be what pushed him over the edge, that and knowing that there was no way he was going to get out of prison before he was a toothless geezer."

"Mm." _I rather doubt that the federal authorities are going to give you many opportunities to think about your plans for revenge, and frankly I don't think you'll be throwing anything at me that I haven't seen before even if you __do__ have the desire and the opportunity to strike, so I'm going to choose not to place you too high on my threat list towards me personally. As for Dick…_ The moisture on the criminal's cheeks had not come, he was certain now, from crocodile tears. _I believe what he's saying. Even if he __does__ happen to be lying, there's still no evidence of him having access to the sort of network that could pull off a kidnapping or a murder. Add in the fact that he probably won't be tried or jailed anywhere near Gotham, and his chances of putting something together drop to virtually zero. _"…I'm done," he announced, then turned on his heel and walked away, headed back towards the Commissioner's office.

"…Well, that will give Bruce Wayne a fair bit of relief, I'm sure," Gordon commented when they were sequestered once more. "I'll leave my men up at his house for another day or two, just to be safe, but I don't think he'll go after the child." He paused. "Do you?"

"…Have any of the Zucco henchmen been questioned yet?" _I think he's safe from Ralph, but I'd like to be sure that Tony didn't leave him a lethal legacy. _

"Questioned? They didn't need to be questioned, not after the first twenty four hours or so behind bars. I'll give Tony Zucco this much, Batman; he knew how to protect his people, or at least his inner circle. They've all got minor convictions on their records, but no time that wouldn't have been served close to where the crimes took place. The prospect of a penitentiary must be more than they're prepared to handle, at least judging from the rate at which they've been turning over on their boss."

_Good. Very good. I'll look at what's been put into the evidence database so far just to be sure, but…it's beginning to look as if we might be able to rest easy tonight._ "And Anaxas? Where does he stand?" He could have looked that up, too, if he'd wanted, but he sensed that not asking would leave an obvious hole in his questioning, especially since the paparazzo had come up in Ralph's comments.

"They're still working on that, but it sounds like he's looking at a couple of low-grade felonies in addition to what he's already been charged with. He'll probably be able to plead down, but it won't behoove him to take pictures of anything that qualifies as human once his sentence ends."

"Mm." _Good__. Throw that sneaky bastard in jail and let him see what it feels like to have his every move watched and recorded by strangers. See how __he__ likes it._ "When are they removing Zucco from you?"

"By mid-week, is what I was told. And I'll be glad for it," he confessed, dropping into his desk chair. "As if we don't have enough crime lords and conspiracies of our own to deal with, we've been spending manpower on _Newtown's_ fiends…I ought to send their city hall a bill for services rendered. But then, the murders _did_ occur in Gotham jurisdiction, and you…Batman?" _I blinked, I would swear that all I did was blink, and yet he's gone. _He let out a long, put-upon puff of air. _If I didn't see the men he arrests and leaves for us every night, I would be tempted to think he was a figment of my imagination…_


	95. Chapter 95

"…He's still asleep?" Bruce asked a bit incredulously as he slipped into Dick's bedroom.

Alfred twitched slightly in his chair, startled out a half-slumber. "Yes, Master Wayne," he replied after a brief lag, running a hand over his face as he glanced towards the unmoving lump under the blankets. "So it would seem."

"Good," the billionaire breathed, a tiny glimmer of hope shining at the edge of his brain. _It isn't quite as late as it usually is when I get home, but it's close,_ he mused. _If he can manage to sleep through the night in his own bed without knowing about Zucco, doing so once he has that news will be a breeze._ While he would never object to such a blatant sign of healing, his heart twisted as he realized that this development would mean the end of his own nightmare-free slumbers. _Maybe…maybe now just being across the hall from him will be enough,_ he struggled to dampen the childish denial rising in his throat. _With Zucco and Randall…neutralized…there's no reason to fear leaving him alone at night or losing him the next day. It's still technically feasible for the courts to take him from me, but…I don't see how they'd defend the decision, especially if Dick got up on the stand and said he wanted to stay here. Until we have a court date, it's foolish to dwell on that anyway. He's safe, _his shoulders slumped, _and that matters a hell of a lot more than whether or not I have bad dreams once he starts sleeping in his own room regularly. If my having them is the price for him __not__ having them, then I'm getting a deal. _"…Can I talk to you downstairs?"

"Is it safe, sir? To leave him, I mean?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Lacey and Green are back on watch – I stepped out onto the porch a minute ago, just to check – and…well, the other thing is what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Very well," the butler agreed, rising and following his elder charge from the room. _You're wearing a strange mix of relieved joy and forlorn trepidation this evening,_ he noted once they were in better light. _But why?_ "…Coffee?" he offered when they had attained the kitchen. "I know it's rather late, but you seemed like you might want it."

"I…yeah. Coffee's good." _If he's going to sleep on his own, I'll want the caffeine. Maybe I'll go back to the cave for a while and start closing out the Zucco file after we're done here; that should keep me distracted for an hour or so, at least._

Neither man spoke again until Alfred set a full mug down on the breakfast bar. "Something's troubling you, Master Wayne," he stated unequivocally. "Does it have to do with the young sir, or…?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "But let me give you my news first."

"As you wish." _Yes, go on and duck out of self-examination once more,_ the Englishman sighed internally. _Doing so is rather your specialty, after all._

"Tony Zucco is dead."

"…I beg pardon? Did you say…he's _dead_?" _Well, that certainly changes things._

"He had a heart attack earlier today, evidently. I thought his brother was behind it at first, but…not now. Not since I talked to him again tonight. He seemed have taken the news pretty hard." He paused, frowning into the masked depths of his drink. "Tony's dead, and Ralph is being transferred to the Feds. He swears that there was nothing in place against Dick, and that he isn't interested in revenge or anything like that." _At least,_ he added, _not against kiddo. Batman seems to be another case, but I can handle that._

"So it seems we're in the clear in that direction, then. I'm quite pleased." He paused as Bruce gave him an incredulous look. "Not about the death, of course, but rather about what its occurrence will now open up. It would have been awful to have needed to keep him on a short leash through the summer, don't you agree? I daresay that in a few weeks he'll be wanting to spend a fair portion of his days playing outside. There are, after all, several tens of thousands of trees on the property that he hasn't yet scaled." _A good, healthy pastime for him, tree climbing…although,_ a faint line appeared between his eyebrows, _he's certain to go much higher than I'd prefer, and to jump out of them from twice his height with the excuse that he's practicing his flips and landings. Perhaps I ought to have a discussion with him on that topic before he starts getting ideas…_ "In any case, sir, at least now we needn't worry when we go more than two minutes without laying eyes on him, hmm?"

"Yeah," the younger man agreed slowly. "I mean, I still think we should be cautious, especially until after Ralph is actually removed from Gotham, but…well, like you said, this is good news."

"And yet you seem less than ecstatic," the butler noted out loud.

"I just…I don't know, Alfred. He's up there fast asleep, with no nightmares, and I…" _I feel like he doesn't need me as much if he can go through the night on his own,_ stuck in his throat. _I know that's terrible, but… _"Do you hear that?" he asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing.

"No, sir. Hear what?"

Bruce held up one finger and moved to the doorway to investigate. The odd half-shuffle, half-sniffle that had caught his attention grew slowly louder, leading him to surmise that it was coming down the hallway. Unable to abide the thought of someone sneaking through his house when he'd _just_ begun to think that the worst of their fears were over, he stepped into the corridor and assumed a wide stance. "…Chum?" he asked a second later, dropping his threatening posture and moving to the boy. "Hey, kiddo, what's up?" He didn't need to see his hurt expression and wet, reddened eyes to make an educated guess about what had happened, but he tilted the child's face up anyway. "Bad dream?" he inquired softly, immediately taking back the disappointment he'd been feeling only moments earlier.

"Uh-huh," Dick whined, arms wrapped tightly around his stomach. _Zucco. Zucco hurting you, and I couldn't…_

"Zucco again?"

"Uh-huh," was repeated as fresh tears fell. "Bruuuce…"

"Hush," he pulled him close. "It's okay, I promise. In fact…" _I kind of hate to tell you like this, but if nothing else maybe it will make this particular nightmare go away._ "I have some news for you about him. Do you want to hear it?"

"…Okay. Don't!" he squealed a second later as the billionaire loosened his grip. "Don't…don't let go. Please?"

_Screw it. If you knowing that Tony can't ever hurt you __or__ me again helps, I'm willing to couch his death as less than a tragedy._ Retightening his grip, he lifted him and passed back into the kitchen, resuming his seat at the breakfast bar with the youth snuggled in his lap. "There. Feel a little better?"

"I…yes."

Alfred, having immediately gathered the situation once he'd heard the child's voice in the passage, handed him a glass of water. "Here, Master Dick. You must be thirsty, hmm?"

"Uh-huh," he nodded for the third time, reaching out to accept his drink. Once he'd downed half of it and seemed to have calmed, his guardian spoke again.

"Kiddo…I don't want you to worry about Tony Zucco. He can never, ever hurt you, or anyone else, again."

"I…I know he's in jail, Bruce, but I still…I still have the dream."

"Dick, he's…he's not in jail anymore."

There was a second of absolute silence. "…_Huh?!_"

The billionaire felt every muscle in son's body tighten, and immediately hushed him again. "He's not in jail," he repeated, explaining, "but he can't hurt you. You or me. He's…Tony Zucco's dead, chum."

"He…he's dead? But…what happened?" _That's weird. I mean, I know people die in jail – _thinking of Caleb and Tavon, he shuddered – _but_ _wouldn't the police want to make sure he stayed alive so that they could put him on trial?_

"He had a heart attack. So far as anyone can tell at this point it was due to natural causes, not because someone gave him something to induce it."

"…Wait, you can do that? Just, like, poke somebody with a needle and give them a heart attack?" he asked amazedly, momentarily distracted by this new knowledge.

"Yes."

"…That's scary."

"It's not something most people would take the time to do. Usually if someone wants someone else dead they have another method in mind. The point is, kiddo, that he can't get to you now. He can't hurt anyone, ever again." _Unless he did, in fact, already have a scheme running to get to you, but…I really don't think that he did. It's not worth screwing up making you feel better by mentioning that unnecessarily, so I won't. _"So you can stop worrying about him, all right?"

"…Bruce?"

"What's up, chum?"

"Um…what about Ralph?"

"He's going with the Feds now. They decided that if they can't charge Tony, they'll pin as much of what they know he did on Ralph as they can. Besides that, he said tonight that he doesn't hold any of what happened against you. Even if he could feasibly do so from jail, I don't think he'll target you."

"Oh. That's…that's good. I'm glad."

"…You don't sound very glad, you know."

"I…Bruce, is it wrong of me to feel worse for Ralph than I do for Tony? I mean, I'm not _happy_ that Tony died, but…I'm not sad, either. Like, at all. Actually, I might…I might be a _little_ bit, um…happy. Just a little, though, honest!"

"Well…considering what he did, that's not really surprising. And while it definitely wouldn't be good to start feeling that way about other people, even other bad guys, when they die, in this instance I don't think anyone would hold it against you. Including me and Alfred," he tacked on for good measure. "But I _am_ curious…why do you feel bad for Ralph?" He was fairly certain he already knew the answer, but he wanted to be sure.

"Because I know what it feels like when someone you love dies, and it's awful. They were brothers, and they worked together, so…they must have cared, right? And now he has to go to jail, too…he's just had a really awful week. He totally deserves to go to jail, but…no one _deserves_ to have someone they love die like that. You know? I mean, they probably didn't…didn't even get to say goodbye…" _Like me,_ he chewed at his lip. _Like me, and like you._

"…I see what you mean," the billionaire nodded, trying to knock his train of thought off track before it induced another spate of tears. "And it's not wrong. It's compassionate." _Maybe a little more compassionate than either of the Zuccos deserve, but…well, we can work on that._

All three were quiet for a long while after that, each one thinking his own thoughts until Alfred reached over to remove the now-empty coffee cup and water glass from the counter. As he turned on the sink to wash them, Dick yawned gigantically, smacking a hand over his mouth before he could be taken to task. "Sorry," he grinned faintly when he could speak again.

"I can hardly chastise you for yawning at nearly three in the morning, young sir. You covered it as quickly as possible, so it's no crime."

"Is it almost three?" Bruce queried. "No wonder I'm so tired. Bedtime, chum," he stood, keeping the boy in his arms. "You coming in with me, or do you want to try your own room again?" _Please say you want to stay with me,_ he begged. _Even knowing that Zucco is dead won't be enough to quell my bad dreams, I don't think. Let me feel like you need me to keep the demons away for just one more night, huh?_

"I want to go with you."

"You got it." _Thank you._

Dick was all but asleep by the time they reached the master suite, and the billionaire was almost done tucking him soundlessly in when he heard his name. "Bruce…?"

"What is it, kiddo?"

"I was going to ask…earlier," he stumbled, not opening his eyes as he fought off sleep in order to ask his question. "…But now I have to…could we go to the…the…could we go see my parents tomorrow?"  
The man perched on the edge of the mattress and ran a hand over the boy's pillow-rowdy hair. "Of course. We can go out there any time you want to."

"Wanna…tell them about Zucco…"

"Yeah? You can tell them that you helped get him," he smiled downward. "That you were the reason he was brought to justice."

"Think they'd…like that okay?"

Bruce smiled, then bent down and whispered against his ear. "I think they'd more than like it, chum. I think they'd be so proud they'd burst."

"Really? I hope so…"

"They would be," he promised. "Now go to sleep. You're going to need your rest to walk out there tomorrow _and_ train."

"Mmkay…Bruce?"

He knew what was about to be said, but he couldn't quite steel himself for it. "Yes?"

"…Love you…"

Closing his eyes to keep them from dripping on the child he was leaning over, he pressed a soft kiss to his temple. "…Good night, Dicky. Sleep tight."


	96. Chapter 96

The billionaire was shrugging off his coat in the foyer on Monday afternoon when Alfred entered. "You're home early, Master Wayne," he commented, reaching dutifully for his shed clothing.

"I've got news, and I wanted to take kiddo out to the cemetery before dinner besides." They had woken on Sunday morning to a cold, pouring rain that both had instantly known meant a cancellation of their trip to the Wayne family resting grounds. Stuck inside, they'd occupied themselves with the gym and reading, the businessman focusing on his reports while the boy sat curled nearby and steadily worked his way towards the end of the first Harry Potter book. Bruce had discovered over dinner that Dick had never seen _The Maltese Falcon_, and it became imperative that such a glaring gap in his crime film education be filled immediately. Thus the two younger residents of the house had found themselves seated in the den after their meal had settled, a bowl of fresh popcorn between them and Humphrey Bogart on screen.

As relaxing as the end of the weekend was, it had been obvious that the delay of their visit to the Graysons' grave was causing the child some distress. Thinking it over as he'd tucked him in before heading out on patrol, Bruce had determined to leave work early the next day, regardless of the weather, and take him out to pay at least brief respects and to share the news about Zucco's downfall. _I don't care if it's __snowing__ tomorrow,_ he'd sworn as he headed down the stairs to the cave. _We're going. We'll just bundle up in however many layers we have to, and do it. We might have to waddle there, knowing Alfred's penchant for cold-weather clothing, but at least we'll get there._

Neither wet nor cold gear, however, had turned out to be necessary. Midway through one of Batman's favored patrol routes the dreary drizzle had ceased, the clouds parting to let part of the moon through, and the situation overhead had remained pleasant ever since. Now anxious to head out, the billionaire glanced around. _Damn, chum, first you sleep all night in your own bed and now I don't even get a hello hug? _he pouted slightly. _Growing up is one thing, but…I thought I still had a little while to go before I would start to notice any changes, let alone rejection._ "…Where's Dick?" he asked, his voice slightly wounded.

"…I'm sorry, sir, I'm sure if he'd known you were coming home early he would have waited, but…he's gone ahead to the cemetery."

"_Alone?!"_ he boggled. _Just because one Zucco is dead and the other is on his way to trial doesn't mean it's safe to let him just wander off on his own! And he's only ever been there once, beside; what if he lost his way?_ "Alfred-"

"I'm sorry, Master Wayne," the butler apologized again swiftly. "He _did_ ask permission, for the record. I would have gone with him, but he specifically requested that he be allowed to make the journey on his own. He's had no real privacy with them since the night of the circus, and I felt that was what he was looking for this afternoon. I didn't imagine that it would be a problem, since Commissioner Gordon had his men pulled off perimeter duty this morning due to the greatly decreased risk since Mr. Zucco's passing. That fact and your own assessment of the situation the other night led me to believe that it was all right to allow him a bit looser rein." He paused. "If it's any help, I _did _insist that he take a radio with him and call in upon arrival to and departure from his destination. He's also been instructed to say something immediately if anything strange or uncomfortable happens, or if he feels overwhelmed and needs someone to come out to him."

"I…that does help," Bruce agreed slowly. "Has he called in yet?"

"Yes, sir, he did so roughly fifteen minutes ago to let me know that he'd arrived and saw no reason to think that anyone else was around."

_By the time I get out there he'll have had about a good half hour alone with them,_ he calculated. _Then maybe he'll let me introduce him to…well, to mother and father. _He had wanted to do so during the boy's first trip out to the plots, but he'd appeared mildly shell-shocked after visiting with his own parents and there hadn't seemed to be much sense in pushing things. _We'll see. That can wait if it has to; I don't want to push him too hard._ "I'm going out to join him," he stated, placing his feet back into his freshly vacated shoes. "Don't call ahead. I want him to have as much time without interruption as possible before I get there."

"Very well," the butler nodded. "I must ask, though, Master Wayne; you said you had news? May I inquire…?"

"Yeah. Randall's preliminary hearing is set for Thursday, and they want Dick to testify. They didn't say anything about wanting to hear from you or I, but I think we should both be prepared for that to change."

"Certainly." _I don't like that he might be asked to relive his awful experiences at that woman's hands more than once, and before strangers in both instances at that,_ he frowned slightly. _If there was some way, perhaps, that they could record his statements later this week and simply play them at the full trial…but then I suppose the defense may have new questions by then, and besides that he's the primary victim who is still alive to tell his story. No, I don't supposed there's likely to be a way around this for him…well, we shall simply have to be ready to reassure him of his safety here. I'll have to procure more chocolate chips before Wednesday night…_ "I'm pleased to see that this case is progressing quickly."

"We'll see how fast it moves after the preliminary hearing and the arraignment. And she _will_ be arraigned; given how much evidence there's going to be from the very start that shows she was responsible for all of this, up to and including Tavon's death, any judge who lets her walk is going to find themselves suspected of corruption. If it comes to that and the police won't look into it, Batman will."

"I've no doubts about that, sir. When shall I expect you and the young master's return?"

"We probably won't be later than five or so. If it looks like we're going to be, we'll call in."

"I would appreciate that greatly."

…_I hope you don't panic at the thought of having to tell your story to a bunch of strangers, chum,_ Bruce grimaced a short while later as he climbed the hill on which the cemetery was laid out. _It isn't going to be pleasant, but it's necessary. So long as it doesn't give you nightmares about her or Kevin again…_ Laying sleeplessly in his cruelly empty bad the night before, the billionaire had come to terms with the fact that as much as he loved it when Dick came to him for comfort it was preferable that he not need soothed at all. _And the best way for that to happen is for him to not have any more bad dreams,_ he'd sighed. _I know we agreed to keep each other's nightmares away, but he can't sleep with me every night. Not without some legitimate reason like a night terror of his own, at least. I'm sure he wouldn't mind, but the courts wouldn't understand, and that's the real litmus test. _

He paused for a moment at the top of the slope to take in the well-spaced family markers that tumbled down the opposite side. _I don't think I've ever come out here in a good mood before,_ he realized with a start. _But…I'm in one right now, just from the prospect of seeing him. It's funny how different this place looks when you stop to take it in instead of just plowing through to your destination. _

Fresh spring grass had cropped up everywhere since their last visit, and with that bit of extra cushion Bruce's footfalls were absolutely silent as he drew up to the Grayson monument. _…He's not here,_ a bolt of panic stabbed through his stomach. _He can't have started towards home, I would have passed him on the trail. Maybe he's just…I don't know, stretching his legs?_ Craning his neck, he swept the open area with his eyes, hoping to find him meandering through the older stones or having climbed one of the ornamental trees. _…Damn it, where did he __go__?!_ he cursed when his search was unsuccessful. _I'll find him,_ he promised silently, his hand brushing the polished marker to the missing child's forebears as he made his oath. _I __have__ to find him…_

His phone was in the midst of being fumbled from his pocket when the slight breeze that had lifted sweat from his neck during his ascent shifted. On it came just a trace of conversation, miraculously framed in the boy's voice. _Oh, Jesus Christ, Dicky, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Where __are__ you?_ Beginning to move again, he kept his ears tuned, and less than ten steps from where he started he picked up the now-intelligible noise once more.

"…Anyway, that's how I got here. And…well, I know you're probably wondering why I came to talk to you when my own parents are right…right over there…but it was important that I did. It's important because of something that Bruce said to me night before last. He told me that my parents would be proud of me for helping get Zucco put in jail for the bad things he did, and at first I didn't really believe him, but after I told them a little while ago I…I guess maybe I do now. I don't know, I just feel different about it. But…well, it doesn't bug me to tell my parents about the stuff that I do, because I've _always_ done that, but Bruce isn't me. He isn't the sort of person who probably comes out here and explains about all the amazing things he does, and all the…all the help he gives people. I don't know if Alfred comes out and tells you all that stuff, but he does so much already that I don't really see how he could.

"But someone _should_ tell you, because…well, I know I didn't know you, but you'd be silly to not be _super_ proud of him. He just…he's just amazing, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne. I mean, he gives tons of money to charity, which I guess lots of people do, but he doesn't assume that he's, you know, 'done his part' or whatever just by giving money. I don't know exactly how many people he's saved being…well, with what he does when he isn't at the office, you understand why I shouldn't say more than that here…but it must be thousands, maybe even more. He does all of that, but I think he still kind of hates himself a little for not doing _more_. I don't really know how he _could_ do more, though. So I just thought…well, I wanted to make sure you knew how great he is, so you could be proud. And…I don't even know if this is possible, but it would be really cool if somehow he could feel like you know, and that you _are_ proud of him, just like I did after I told my parents about Tony Zucco. I…I think that might make him feel a little better about himself, and if anyone should be proud of who they are and what they've done, it's him.

"I…I owe him a lot." His voice dropped to where Bruce, now standing just out of sight on the far side of a tall memorial with one hand clapped over his mouth and struggling not to burst into tears, could only just make it out. "I owe him everything. And I know I can't ever repay all of the things he's already given me when he didn't have to, but…I'm going to do my best to help him, and to learn as much as I can from him so that I can be useful to him. I don't want to take advantage of him the way some people seem to think that I'm going to. That would be _so_ wrong, and he's done _so_ much for me." He paused. "That's…that's pretty much it, I think. I wish I could tell you more specific stuff, but I think he wouldn't want me to talk about it in the open like this. So…just know that your son is the most amazing person in the world, okay? I just…I just wanted to make sure that someone had told you."

There was a slight rustling as he stood, and the billionaire slipped further into his hiding place, suddenly not wanting the boy to know he was there and had heard all of that. "I hope he's not upset with me for coming out here by myself – he probably wanted to visit you while I visited my parents – but I really needed to say what I did. I should probably go back to the house now, though, before Alfred starts to get worried. He'll be home soon, Bruce will…maybe I'll try and keep him from knowing I came out already, and that way we can come back out together. I…I think I'd really like that, and he probably would too, so…yeah. Um…bye. And thanks for listening."

Bruce watched with wet cheeks as the child finally came into sight, sniffling a bit and wiping at his eyes as he made his way back to his own parents for a moment. "…I'll see you later, Mama, Dad…I'll be back with Bruce in a bit, okay?" He stared for a minute, then cleared his throat and removed a radio from his jacket pocket. "…Alfred?"

"Is everything all right, Master Dick?" came back immediately.

"Yes. I just wanted to let you know that I'm…I'm on my way back now."

_Don't say anything about me,_ the spying man pled desperately. _Please, Alfred, don't let him know that I'm here. I don't want him to feel embarrassed about all of those…those wonderful things he just said…I just don't want him to know that I heard, please…_

There was a moment of hesitation from the distant end of the connection. "…All right, young sir. Do be careful on the way back, please, and call if you need anything or decide to make a detour for some reason. I'll meet you by the back door, if that's all right?"

"Sure, Alfred. Thanks." Zipping the walkie-talkie away carefully, Dick turned and surveyed the field for a long moment. Then he smiled softly, the semi-filtered sunlight and his wavering expression making him seem for a moment like an apparition, something unreal that the watching billionaire would never quite be able to catch. Finally he turned and slowly made a line for the path back to the manor, leaving Bruce alone to recover.

_Oh…oh my god. Dick…you…oh, baby…_ Pressing his lips tightly together, he shook himself hard and reached for his cell phone. "…Alfred," he breathed when the other man picked up.

"Sir. I just spoke with Master Dick; he said he's heading back. Did the two of you not rendezvous?"

"Ah…well, we were here at the same time, but…look, it's a long story." _One that I will probably never share with you,_ he added silently. _I want to keep this for myself._ "I called because I'll be heading back in a second, too, but…I don't want Dick to know I was here, all right? I'd…I'd rather he thinks I haven't gotten home yet. I'll come around to the front door to legitimize it. He's going to want to keep the fact that he was already out here today from me, I think, so if he asks you not to say anything to me about it, it's okay."

"…As you wish, Master Wayne. Did you leave the car in the drive? If so, I'll move it before he arrives."

"No, I went ahead and put it in the garage."

"Very good. Is there anything else before you return?"

"No, that's…that's it. Alfred?" he tacked on quickly before the call could be ended.

"Yes, sir?"

"I…thank you."

There was a momentary pause. "…Why, you're very welcome, I assure you. I'll see you shortly, hmm?"

"…Yeah. Shortly." Hanging up, he put the device away and stepped out from his secret position. _He's had plenty of time to get a good head start, and I have something else I need to do here,_ he thought, closing the short distance between himself and his parents' gravestone. Once there, he crouched before it in the same place that Dick had. Remembering everything that had been said here only a few minutes before, his jaw quaked. Getting himself back together once more, he allowed a rare, true smile room on his face. _…He's fantastic, isn't he?_ he thought finally. _I think he is. You, ah…you should be damned proud of him, too. I know I am. _

He waited a moment to see if there was anything else he wanted to say, but nothing was forthcoming. Eventually he rose and crossed back to the Graysons' marker, coming to a stop beside it and letting his fingers rest firmly on the sun-warm stone. _Thank you._ _Thank you for having such an incredible child. More importantly…thank you for sharing him with me. You gave a complete stranger new life, and in my book that's the highest form of good one can do in the world. _

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he turned away from the cemetery and started towards home with something approaching a spring in his step.


	97. Chapter 97

Three weeks to the day after the formal hearing regarding Bruce's guardianship status had been scheduled to occur, the billionaire found himself on the stand as a witness not to his own defense but rather to the prosecution of Margine Randall.

Eager to show that Gotham wasn't going to let the sorts of allegations that had been laid at the social worker's become lost amongst the thousands of other delayed and pending trials that clogged the city judicial system's arteries, the District Attorney had pushed the case forward as quickly as she possibly could. The preliminary hearing had gone off without a hitch, and jury selection had been unusually snag-free despite the huge amount of media coverage the case had been receiving. The remarkable speed at which everything had come to a head left some journalists wondered aloud if Bruce Wayne had oiled the gears a tad, but without any proof their suppositions were hollow and unable to hurt the proceedings. Statements from City Hall, Commissioner Gordon, and the Chief Director of Gotham Social Services, all declaring their utmost dedication to closing the matter quickly and justly, had also helped dampen the idea that greased palms had allowed things to advance at such a fast rate by showing that there was considerable inside pressure to get this nasty business behind them, and the talk about Bruce had turned back to neutral by the time the trial finally began.

With all of the speculation and rumor that had been passed around since Randall and Whitney's arrests, he hadn't been surprised in the least that they had to dodge paparazzi on their way into the courthouse. He'd asked Alfred to keep Dick home as much as possible in the preceding weeks, certain that the frenzied inquiries and snapping cameras that he had been dealing with every time he entered or exited the front gate of the manor or the Wayne Enterprises building would be extended to the boy were he to so much as come into sight of the media. They had more or less stopped watching TV news in the house – even the national broadcasts weren't safe, mentioning a new development every two or three days as things sped towards trial – and their normal paper deliveries were redirected to the billionaire's office, all in the name of protecting Dick from the maelstrom of outrage that was rising as more and more information was released to the public.

Despite that, there was no question that the child had a good sense of what was going on; there were, after all, certain things he had to be told in order to prepare him for what was coming, and once he'd waited out his two-week banning from the cave Bruce discovered that he had gone looking for further answers on his own. From what he could tell Dick had learned all he had the stomach for from only a few sites, as the search history shifted quickly from news to elephants. Normally he would have been upset that the downstairs terminals had been used to look up something so frivolous, but when he considered that the pachyderm pictures had likely only been used to smooth over whatever awful things the youth had read only minutes before his fire cooled. The fact that every other site in the queue had been about various past crimes solved by Batman had mollified him further, and in the end he had simply asked if he wanted to talk about anything he'd learned.

Now, confronted with a room full of reporters and asked for the details of his experiences with the lank-haired woman at the defense table, he spilled everything he safely could; the letter that had come with his jacket, her attitude at the Graysons' funeral, their conversation at the Center, the borderline home invasion that she'd couched as an inspection. "He had nightmares about that place she stuck him in – he _still_ has them, I'm fairly certain – that left him shaking and fearing sleep," he concluded, trying to keep his voice from evincing the rage his recollections had stirred up. "This…woman…terrifies him so much that he's barely spoken all morning today. I asked him if he was just nervous about getting up in front of so many people to talk about what happened, and he told me that he was afraid of seeing _her_ again. He said that would remind him that everything she did was real. When I left him to come in, he was trembling so hard you'd have thought he had a current running through him." _So chuck her in jail and throw away the goddamn key,_ he bit back. "She was supposed to protect him, and instead she threw him to the wolves."

The defense came after that, predictably claiming that he was exaggerating the situation in order to bolster his custody case. He had prepared for every feasible attack they had to launch at him, however, and dodged their barbs easily, turning every one that he could back around on them. Randall's attorney steadily reddened as he was outmaneuvered time and again by the billionaire, finally limping back to his seat with his tail between his legs.

"…Thank you, Mr. Wayne," the judge, who had been wearing a hard grimace almost since his testimony had begun, said when he saw that both sides were finished with their questioning. He opened his mouth to continue, then paused as a bailiff entered, approached the bench, and shared something with him quietly. "You may step down. However," he added, "please have a seat over there to the left, where the officer is standing, rather than leaving. Usually I wouldn't allow this sort of thing because of the risk of tampering, but both your attorney and, I have just been informed, the boy himself have requested that you be allowed to stay during these next statements. Given the extreme discomfort that I myself noted in the child when he was required to give evidence without you in the room during the preliminary hearing, I will make an exception in this case. However," he went on dourly, "if you appear to be making any attempt to communicate with him while he is on the stand, I will have to have you removed, regardless of his emotional reaction."

"Of course, Your Honor. Thank you," Bruce said gratefully. _That should help a lot,_ he sighed, moving towards the empty chair that had evidently been being guarded specially for him. Sitting, he found that the spot had a perfectly clear view of the witness stand, and understood why an effort had been made to keep it from being occupied by anyone else. A moment later he heard Dick be called for as the next witness, and his tension rose to new heights. _C'mon, kiddo. You can do this. It's okay, I promise she can't hurt you here…_

Dick appeared in the doorway, was led to the box, and shakily took the standard oath. Seated, he had to strain to see over the top of the microphone, causing a booster to be called for. Once he was settled his eyes swept nervously across the room. Finding the defendant, who had raised her face as soon as he'd entered, he visibly blanched. "All right, now," the judge calmed him, seeing his sudden pallor. "Just relax. I've given Mr. Wayne permission to stay," he gestured to where the billionaire sat, leaning anxiously towards the rail, "and you can look over there whenever you need to. But keep in mind that he can't make any motion or response to you," he directed. "That means he can't nod, or shake his head, or anything else like that. So long as he can refrain from doing those sorts of things, he'll be able to stay right there where you can see him. Do you understand, Richard?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded, swallowing hard and clearly having to make an effort not to glance back towards Randall's icy stare.

"All right. Are you ready to begin?"

"…Yes, sir. I'm…I'm ready."

"Excellent. The prosecution may proceed."

"Thank you, Your Honor." A slim brunette in a flawless pantsuit approached the front, seeming to take care not to step in between the child at the microphone and the seated man his eyes kept darting to. "I would like it noted for the record before we begin that both of the specialists who qualified this witness' competency to testify stated specifically that, despite his youth, he seems to have a better grasp of the gravity of the swearing-in oath than do many of adults they've tested for the same purpose and then allowed to take the stand."

"So noted," the judge agreed.

"Thank you. Richard? We'll start out with some easy questions, okay?"

"…Okay."

"Do you know who Margine Randall is?"

"She was my social worker after my parents were…were killed," he managed. 

"'Was' your social worker? So she isn't any longer?"

"No. She's not." His voice grew a little stronger.

"How do you feel about that, Richard?"

"I'm glad," he answered, now without hesitation. "She was awful."

"Can you give us an example?"

"…Do you just want one, or…?"

A wave of whispering broke out among the assembled journalists, then died out as the prosecutor responded. "Why don't you tell us everything you remember about your former social worker, and I'll tell you when we've heard enough?"

"Okay. Well…I guess the biggest thing was when she…she put me in the Center. But I didn't do anything wrong!" he exclaimed. "She said I was a thief…she said I stole Bruce's coat, because he let me borrow it when I was cold and I didn't get a chance to give it back before she made me leave with her. And she…she said mean things about me, and…and my family, too. It wasn't even like she was talking to someone else about us, she said those things right to me. She called me…ungrateful. And devious, and sneaky, and…she called me the 'G' word," he disclosed, making a pained face.

"What is the 'G' word, Richard? I don't think we're all familiar with it."

"She…she called me a Gypsy. I know a lot of people think that's an okay word, but…it's really not. Not the way _she_ used it, like…like it was something awful. Something I should be ashamed of."

"Okay. Can you tell us about the Center? That's the Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys, for the knowledge of the court," she announced.

"…It was awful," he whispered. "People _die_ in that place. I didn't even do anything to deserve to be there. She – my social worker – said that it was because there wasn't room for me anywhere else. Miss Linda, she works at the Center, she asked if there was an older kid that could be brought instead." He paused.

"And what did you social worker say to that? Do you remember?"

"She…she said it was too much paperwork. She said I had to stay there until there was room somewhere else, but…I was there for a long time. I think she _wanted_ me there. She said it would be good for me to have some discipline, but…I didn't do anything wrong, ma'am. Honest, I didn't."

"We believe you, Richard," the prosecutor soothed. "Can you tell us some of the things that happened in the Center? Good things, bad things?"

"…There weren't any good things," he answered slowly. "Except…Miss Linda and Lionel, he's the janitor, they were nice. Lionel even said I shouldn't be there, but…everyone else was mean. They wouldn't let me have my things, my clothes and a couple of toys that I was allowed to bring from the circus. They had to be locked up, and I had to wear this scratchy outfit…I got left alone a lot. And…well, there was Kevin." His lower lip disappeared between his teeth. "After my first roommate – his name was Caleb – after he…killed himself…my social worker said I had to share with Kevin. But Kevin had already been really mean to me, and I didn't want to."

"Mean how?"

"He threatened to beat me up because I…I guess I was screaming in my sleep." Bowing his head, a sniffle escaped him. "I was screaming because…because I was dreaming about m-my parents, but…but I didn't know I was. And I didn't want to scream, but I couldn't help it, and he said it kept him awake…" Several of the women in the audience dabbed at their eyes, trying to preserve their makeup as Dick went on. "But she put me with him anyway, even though he beat up Caleb the day I got there."

"Can you tell us what happened with Kevin while you were his roommate, Richard?"

"I…he hit me. He hit me because I got left alone in my new room, and the beds looked the same so…I just picked one and went to sleep. I thought I wouldn't make him angry if he was awake when I was asleep, but…I accidentally picked _his_ bed to sleep in. When he got back he…he hit me, and took my blanket. He…he s-said he'd br-break my jaw if I screamed again, s-so I stayed up all night, and it was so c-cold…"

"Wrap it up, counselor," the judge warned, clearly concerned about the boy's deterioration.

"Just one more question, Richard," she said as kindly as she could. "After you got to go home with Mr. Wayne, did your social worker get nicer? Did she leave you alone so that you could settle in?"

"N-_no_," he protested. "She k-kept trying to say Bruce was doing bad things, but he _wasn't_. She…she just _showed up_ in my bedroom one morning and said she was there to do an inspection, but…we didn't know she was coming. I was s-so afraid that she was going t-to take me away from Bruce, and…I don't know why s-she's so _mean_ to me. I never d-d-did anything wrong, and I just want to stay with Bruce but she doesn't want me to, and I don't get it be…because if she h-hates me s-so much then wouldn't s-she be glad to get rid of me? Wouldn't she?" He directed a pleading, tear-stained look at the prosecutor, then at the judge. "Shouldn't she? I…d-doesn't that make sense? I just d-_don't_ want to go b-b-back there. I just want to s-stay with Bruce…_please…_just let me s-stay with Bruce_…_"

It took every ounce of strength the billionaire possessed to keep from vaulting the railing and rushing forward as his son lowered his face into his hands on the stand and began to shake with quiet sobs. As if the uniformed man beside him could sense that barely-restrained urge, a hand came down to hover just above his shoulder, ready to restrain him if he tried. _Oh, baby…I'm so sorry. I knew this was going to be hard on you, but…this is too much. And you still have to go through a cross-examination on top of it. If that defense attorney picks at you the way he did me, there is __no__ way I'll be able to hold back. If he makes you cry…_

"I think a short recess is in order at this juncture," the judge stated. "Bailiff, please take the witness and Mr. Wayne into my chambers and remain with them at all times that they are together during the break. Do _not_ speak about the case, or what has or will be said, is that understood, Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Bruce agreed. "Thank you. May I…?" he gestured to where Dick was still ineffectually hiding his tears.

"Go ahead."

In four long strides he was leaning over the boy. "Hush, Dicky," he urged, turning the microphone away. "It's okay. Come on, let's go sit down together for a minute, hmm?" He received a wordless nod in reply, but no other motion was made to indicate that Dick was about to get up. "…Do you want me to carry you, chum? I don't mind."

"…People," was whispered back.

"Huh?"

"People will see. Have to be…strong."

Listening, he realized that the child was encouraging himself to pull together. "Kiddo," he breathed helplessly. _My brave boy. Let's go, baby, you've more than earned a break._

A long, shaky inhalation sounded. "…Bruce?"

"Right here."

"We get…we get a break?"

"Yeah, Dicky, we get a break. The judge was nice enough to let us use his office, so let's be polite and take advantage of it, okay?"

"You're coming too, right?" he begged.

"Of course. We'll go together."

With that reassurance he finally stood up, reaching immediately for his guardian's hand. Turning to follow the bailiff's directions out of the court, Bruce found that virtually no one in the audience had moved; everyone was watching their private drama play out. _God, can't we have __one__ moment to ourselves without hiding behind walls?_ he cursed silently. Dick's grasp tightened suddenly, and Bruce realized that his eyes had narrowed to slits. _Shit, glaring at the jury isn't going to do any good,_ he shook himself. _You__, though,_ his attention turned to Margine Randall, slumping in her chair with a vague sneer on her face, _I don't think anyone will hold it against me if I happened to have Clark's heat vision right now and 'accidentally' lit you on fire with it. _There was no way she could have heard his thought, but the look he was sending her direction was malevolent enough to make her twitch backwards in surprise when she felt it. _Yeah, bitch,_ the billionaire laughed blackly to himself as she nearly overturned her chair. _That's what I thought. Get used to that feeling, because you're going to need it where they're sending you._


	98. Chapter 98

Dick wasted no time crawling into Bruce's lap once they were safely closed up in the judge's chambers. Strong arms wrapped around him protectively, and for a moment he let himself simply drift, leaning his head against his guardian's chest and trying to control the few fat, wounded tears still trailing towards his chin.

"Do you know how long we have?" the billionaire asked over his head. _I've got a hell of a lot better chance of calming him down in ten minutes than I do in five,_ he thought grimly, still able to feel spasms running through the boy curled against him. _And he can't go into a cross-examination like this, he'll fall apart completely._

"These sorts of breaks are usually about fifteen minutes," the bailiff replied. "Takes that long for a full courtroom to make it through the bathrooms, you know? They'll send someone to get us when they're about ready to start again. You need anything? I can send for it if you do."

"I think we could use a little water. What do you think, kiddo?" he tried to pull the child out of what he could only assume was a medley-style review of all the worst moments from the past few weeks.

"…'Kay."

"Will you drink it for me if we get some?"

"Uh-huh."

As the guard leaned out into the hallway to call for refreshments, Bruce loosened his grip just enough to begin lightly tracing circles between the boy's thin, rigid shoulder blades. _There,_ echoed relievedly through his head as he felt him begin to relax. _That's better. _"She can't hurt you any more, chum," he promised. "I know she's scary, but you're safe."

"I…I know," was whispered back. "I just…I just don't like thinking about all those things, Kevin, and the Center, and my parents, and...and how it felt when she said I was a thief and that you'd never want me…"

"You know that's not true," the billionaire crooned.

"I _know_, but it still hurts…and I don't like to think about it…but what if she's _right_, Bruce?" he begged. "What if…what if someday you don't want me to stay with you anymore?"

"That will never happen, Dicky." _How can you think that? Of course that will never happen, I…I l-…god damn it, I can't even __think__ the words! Fuck!_

"But you can't _know_!" came a miserable outburst. "I mean, things happen, right? And if I do something wrong, something _really_ bad…I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want me anymore then. I just don't want to go back to that place if that ever happens, or if they try to take me away from you, or…or _ever_. Please, Bruce, I just don't want to go back to that place she put me in!"

"You _won't_. You won't, kiddo. We talked about this, remember? I promise, you're _never_ going back there. Hey," he gently pushed his chin up until he could meet watery blue eyes. "Trust me."

"…I _do_ trust you."

"Then you know that you'll never have to go back there, right?"

"I…" _If I __did__ get put there again and you couldn't fix it as Bruce, would…would Batman come? It would be so dangerous for you to do that, but…_ Dick searched the worried expression of the man holding him. _But you would. You'd go into Batman mode, and you'd come save me. You'd even figure out a way to explain it and make everything okay, just like you did with the manuscript, because you're the smartest person in the whole world._ "Yes," he answered slowly, his voice firmer than it had been. "I…I trust you, Bruce. You wouldn't let anything bad happen to me."

"That's right," the seated man nodded, smoothing fine dark locks back from the youth's forehead. "I wouldn't." They communed silently for a long moment until they were interrupted by a knock at the door that heralded the arrival of their water. "Thanks," Bruce acknowledged as he accepted it from the guard.

"Thank you," Dick tacked on with a vague smile.

"Sure thing. Don't you worry about that lady," the guard added. "That's what I'm here for. Anyone tries anything against the order of the court, it's my job to put 'em back where they should be."

"Okay," the boy acceded, his mien brightening slightly. "…Bruce?" he went on, turning back to his guardian as the bailiff retreated back to the door. "Um…I still have to answer more questions, don't I?"

The billionaire raised his eyes to the other adult. "Is it a problem if I brief him on what's going to happen next?" They had talked about the way trials worked several times over the past three weeks, but it was no surprise that Dick wanted reassurance as to what he would be facing when they emerged from the judge's chambers. _I don't want to try and coach him or guide his testimony,_ he thought pleadingly as the guard considered his query. _I just don't want him to break down again. Please…_

"I suppose it'd be all right so long as you didn't try and tell him what he should say," the answer came finally. "If you sound like you're getting too close to talking about something you shouldn't, I'll stop you."

"Thank you," Bruce said once more. "Okay, kiddo, here's how this works. You've told the prosecutor what happened, but to keep things fair the defendant's lawyer gets a chance to…" _To crucify you,_ he bit back. "…Well, to ask you some questions of their own. Sometimes they ask you things that they hope will make you contradict what you said before; sometimes they just want you to talk about things that you didn't earlier that might help their case. Remember, their job is to try and get their client found not-guilty, and that means that they might ask you questions about things that you don't really want to talk about. Whatever you're asked, answer as honestly as you can. Just tell the truth, and you'll have done exactly what you're supposed to do, and what you swore to do. Okay?"

Dick took a sip of water. "…Okay. I can do that, tell the truth. I don't like to lie."

"I know you don't," he squeezed him tightly. "…Did any of that step over the line?" he directed to the man at the door.

"Nah, I think that was all okay. I didn't hear nothing that sounded like you were trying to feed him lines or anything, so…you're all right." Another knock sounded. "I think that means they're ready for you."

"Are _you_ ready, Dicky?" Bruce asked, then winced as the small amount of color that had come back into the child's cheeks fled once more.

"Um…sure," he answered, gulping. _I have to do this,_ he bucked himself up as best he could._ I have to be brave and honest. If I can just do that, everything will be okay. If Bruce says that's all I have to do, then that's all I have to do. He wouldn't ask me to do something he knew I couldn't manage. _"…Bruce?" he broached hesitantly, an idea striking him as they stood up.

"What is it, kiddo?"

"Do you think…do you think we can have cookies when we get home after this? I know it's going to be close to dinner, but…maybe Alfred will let us anyway? I think that will help me feel better afterwards, you know? Alfred's cookies are like magic."

The billionaire stared at him for a long second. _...God, I just want to pick you up and run out of here before Randall's lawyer gets his talons in you, _he moaned internally. _There's no way he'll be as rough with you as he would be with an adult – that would be all but suicide, judging from the way half the audience was tearing up while you were talking earlier – but that doesn't mean he's going to go easy, either. If the prospect of cookies will help you power through this, so far as I'm concerned you can have the entire jar. _"You know what, chum? I don't think Alfred will have a problem with that."

"Really? Cool," he almost grinned. "Okay. I…I think I'm ready for real now."

"Do you want a little more water first?"

"No. I just want to get it over with." He paused. "It's…it's in the past, all this stuff, right? I just have to tell the truth about it."

_Nothing's ever really in the past, _Bruce pondered darkly. _It all carries forward, molding who we are, leaving us changed. The events of the past are scars; they might fade, but they're never really gone, and even if a few of those marks do somehow fade completely we're always aware on some level that they were there, that we were wounded. That's not a lesson for today, though; we'll save that one for some time when the injuries in question are a little bit less fresh._ "Right. Just tell them the truth," he encouraged instead, holding out his hand.

"Oh, wait!" Peering around, he spotted a box of tissues on the desk and snagged one. "I don't want to look messy when I go back out," he explained as he wiped his nose and cheeks dry. "Mom…mom always said that no one takes a person with a dirty face seriously. And I want them to take me seriously, Bruce. I want them to listen. They _have_ to listen." Full of his mission, he set his jaw and took the proffered fingers tightly in his own, then met the mildly shocked gaze of the bailiff. "Okay. Now I'm really, _really_ ready."

_I can do this,_ Dick told himself as they walked back down the hall. _Bruce thinks I can, he __wants__ me to do this, and I want to make him proud of me. I just have to not let it…let it bother me, _he wavered slightly as they re-entered the courtroom and got a fresh look at the people observing the proceedings. They had filled every seat but the one that his guardian had been occupying before the break, but now they were ranged along the walls as well, standing shoulder to shoulder and two deep in places, all waiting with baited breath for the counter-offensive. _…I think there are even more reporters here now,_ the boy boggled. "…Bruce?"

"It's okay, chum."

It was enough, somehow. "…Right. Sorry." With that he released the fingers encasing his own and climbed back into his seat to watch as the last few figures, the billionaire's among them, settled into place. When all was still, the judge spoke beside him.

"Are you ready to continue, Richard?"

He drew a deep, silent breath. _I have to do this. I have to tell the world how awful she was, and I have to make sure they believe me. It's like…it's like what Bruce said when I first told him I wanted to help Batman,_ he realized suddenly. _He said that there are ways to help, to do good, without wearing a mask. Keeping her from hurting other kids…that's doing good. I just have to stay strong, and make sure that everyone knows that what I already said is the truth._ "Yes, sir," he nodded once. "I'm ready to keep going."

"…Very well. Counselor, you may proceed."

"Thank you, Your Honor." A rangy man with a retreating hairline whom Dick hadn't paid any attention to before rose from his place beside Margine Randall and strolled up to the witness box, his hands clasped behind his back. "Richard Grayson?" he asked, wearing a smile that would have been disarming if it hadn't made him look like a weasel.

"…Yes?"

"Tell us, Richard; did Ms. Randall, your social worker, provide you with clothing while you were in her care? A pair of shoes, to be exact?"

"Um…yes, but-"

"Just yes or no, please," the attorney requested with false pleasantness. "And I believe that she drove you not only back to your previous home in order to gather personal belongings, but also accompanied you to your parents' funeral, is that correct?"

"…Yes," he responded slowly. "But-"

"Ah!" A finger was held up, cutting him off for a second time. "Just yes or no, please."

_But the shoes didn't fit!_ Dick protested silently. _And she tried to rush me through packing __and__ the…saying goodbye!_

"Did anyone else overhear her say any of the things you've accused her of calling you?"

…_Crap. No, we were in the car every time, no one could have heard…_ "…No."

"And did she, at any time, strike you or directly cause you physical injury?"

He thought hard. "…A couple of times when she grabbed me it was too hard, and it hurt."

"Remember the oath you took, Richard," the lawyer, who had assumed a broad stance and still kept his hands behind his back when he wasn't using a finger to shush the child on the stand, warned. "Now, did Margine Randall, at any time, strike you or directly cause you physical injury?"

"Objection, Your Honor, he's answered that question already!" the prosecutor launched, her expression nearly as stormy as that of Bruce, visible over her right shoulder.

"I'm attempting to verify the veracity of his last statement. If I'd modified the question the objection would have been badgering," was argued smoothly.

The judge gave him a hard look. "Go on, then. Answer the question, please, Richard."

"She grabbed me when she was angry, and it hurt," he repeated stubbornly. _…I don't think I like you,_ _Mr. Lawyer,_ he decided. _I know you're just doing your job, but holy cow are you being sneaky. Trying to, anyway._

"I _have_ to insist that you answer in yes or no form, Richard," Randall's attorney sighed.

"Fine. Then yes, she did."

"Really? Why didn't you mention this earlier, when the prosecution asked you to tell the court everything she'd done to you while you were in her care?"

"Because the stuff I told you about then hurt a lot more and will hurt a lot longer," Dick spat out before he knew what he was going to say. _Oh. Huh. That wasn't even a lie. _

A murmur ran through the assembly as the defense man blinked, then cleared his throat. "Did Margine Randall leave any physical marks on you?" he changed his tack. "Bruises, scrapes, cuts? Yes or no answer, please."

"I…no," the boy had to admit.

"All right, then. Now, was Margine Randall the person who took you to share a cell with the other inmate at the Center, the one you've accused of hitting you? Kevin, I believe his name was?"

"Ob_jec_tion, Your Honor, really!"

"Sustained. Defense counsel, the witness has never been convicted of a crime, and therefore was not an official inmate of the Center at any time. Please refrain from referring to him as such from here on. Jurors, you're ordered to disregard the implication that this witness had committed an offense, as he has not done so to the knowledge of this court. Continue."

"…Well, Richard? Was it Ms. Randall who led you to your…to the second cell you stayed in?"

"No. She ordered-"

"Who _did_ take you?" the man cut him off sharply.

"She told the janitor to do it." _If you'd let me finish a sentence, you wouldn't have to ask so many questions,_ he sniped silently.

"Did you have the impression at that time that it was Ms. Randall's decision to place you with Kevin?"

"No," he shook his head. _She said that was the Director's order, but you're not going to let me say that._

"And when you were supposedly having trouble in the Center, Richard, did you tell your social worker? Did you give her a chance to fix it?"

"It's hard to talk to someone who never comes to check on you," he blurted before he could be lectured about his answer format again.

"Your Honor, I'd like to present the sign-in log for the Worthington Memorial Detention Center during the witness' time there. As you'll see, it clearly shows my client signing in on a daily basis, and frequently several times a day." He turned back to the boy. "Richard, you were the only case Ms. Randall had at the Center on those days. Can you explain how it was that she put her signature to the sign-in paper so many times and yet, you say, _never_ came to see you?"

_Well that was a dumb question,_ the child held back a grin. Now that he had recovered from the baring of all of his recent wounds and had refocused on his reason for being in court, his urge to cry had subsided, leaving him aggravated and eager to do his part in the battle against Margine Randall. As a result, the lawyer's pointed and controlled questioning was making him angry, increasing his desire to work around the man's slippery wording and make sure that the truth he'd spoken earlier remained intact. "Yup," he nodded. "I can."

"…I beg your pardon?"

_You weren't expecting me to say yes to that,_ he read the balding man's suddenly cautious mien. _Good._ "I said yes, I can."

"And what exactly is it you think she was doing?" was asked in a brittle tone. "I'd like to remind you that you swore to tell the truth."

"I know I did. And it's the truth that she was probably in with the Director. I mean, how else would she have known to tell Lionel – he's the janitor – that it was his order that I go in with Kevin?"

"You said before that it was Margine Randall who said you would be placed with Kevin, though. Are you now changing your answer to state that it was _not_ Ms. Randall who said that?"

"…No," Dick objected pensively, his mind flying.

"You're not making sense, Richard."

"Um…"

"…Can you explain the difference in your answers?" the judge asked curiously.

"Well," he started cautiously, not wanting to misrepresent his chain of thought, "I heard her say that the Director wanted to put me in Kevin's cell, but I didn't hear the _Director_ say that. And isn't that, ah, whatchacallit? Hearsay? Yeah, that's the word, I think. So…maybe she really _was_ the one who wanted me to go there, after all. She could have just said he was the one who ordered it."

"But you said just a minute ago that you never had any reason to believe that it was Ms. Randall who made the decision to place you with the other boy," the inquisitor countered quickly. "So which is it? Did you, or didn't you?"

"I didn't."

"Aha!"

"_At the time_," he struck upon a solution to his quandary. "But I kinda do now." His grin broke free across his face. "Thanks for clearing that up for me. It makes a lot more sense this way."

"Your Honor, I want that stricken from the record!" the defense counsel squawked instantly.

"You want to strike _logic_ from the court record, counselor?" the prosecutor retorted.

"Recorder, strike the witness' last reply. It's an opinion, not an observation of events," the judge overrode the rising tension. Despite his ruling, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards as he glanced at Dick. "We don't allow opinions like that to be used in evidence in court," he explained.

"Oh. Okay. Still, I never heard the Director say to put me there. Just her."

"Duly noted," he nodded. "Now…any further questions for your part, defense?"

"…No, Your Honor," the man sneered, a vein throbbing visibly in the middle of his forehead. "I'm done."

"Prosecution?"

"I think all of our questions have been taken care of, Your Honor."

"Very well." With that, the black-robed man turned to the child in the stand. "Thank you, Richard. You can accompany Mr. Wayne out now."

"…I'm done?"

"You're all done."

"Okay. Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

Dick jumped down from the stand and tried not to run to Bruce, who was already out of his seat and coming around the railing. Grabbing his guardian's hand, he hustled along beside him until they were released in the same small back lobby they'd come in through. Alfred, who had testified that morning and been released at lunch, rose to greet them, his question writ large across his face in spite of his best effort to hide it. "…Sirs?"

"It's okay," the billionaire assured, reaching down to clasp the boy's shoulder. "Dick just earned _all_ the cookies."

"All of them, Master Wayne?" An intrigued eyebrow went up.

"Yeah, Alfred." A smirk spread across his lips as he finally let out the delighted amusement that he'd been bottling ever since his son had turned Randall's attorney's question back on him. "_All_ of them."

* * *

**Author's Note: My apologies about not posting yesterday. I was dealing with a minor crisis, but all is well now. Tomorrow there will be a new chapter of 'Joker's Little Party,' for those of you following that, and this story should be wrapping up by the end of the week. Thanks again to all of you who have stuck with the story this far, and especially to those of you who have been kind enough to review. Happy reading!**


	99. Chapter 99

Flash cornered Batman outside the transport room after that week's JLA meeting, his face both cautious and curious. "Uh…Batman…you have a sec?"

The cowled man stared at him for a moment. "…What do you want, Flash?" he growled. _I have better things to do than exchange inanities, so this had better be quick._ He'd all but bolted once the conclave had been adjourned, eager not only to get out on patrol but also for what he knew was waiting in the interim. Now that Robin's punishment for sneaking out to Newtown was over and the boy was once more allowed in the cave, the after-dinner hours were spent in intense training, and the vigilante was curious to see how he was doing with that evening's assignment. "If this has to do with Superman asking you to take the Angola mission in my place-"

"No, no, it's…it's not that," the speedster shook his head, looking troubled. "Although I guess it's sort of tied to it, in a way. Um…look, maybe we should talk about this in the lounge. This is kind of public, you know?"

Batman frowned internally. _You aren't normally one to worry about keeping secrets from other League members,_ he considered, trying to piece together what the other hero could possibly want to discuss that was not only worthy of removing themselves to a more private venue but also had him acting nervous. _This is either an extremely personal matter or the start of an extremely sinister plan. Somehow, Flash, I have a hard time imagining you as a turncoat, so barring some sort of mind control it must be the former._ "…Fine," he concurred. "The lounge, but make it fast."

"You're talking to the right guy for that," came back with none of Flash's usual joviality as they began to retrace their steps. They turned off just a short way from the conference room they'd spent the past two hours in and stopped.

"…Well?"

"Maybe…let's go in the kitchen."

"Flash, I don't have time to-"

"Please?"

The single word was said in a more unnerved tone than Batman had ever heard leave the speedster's lips. All of his defenses went up, and then immediately slackened as something in the other man's hesitancy struck him as familiar. _You're a confident person normally,_ his eyes narrowed behind his lenses. _So what is this? Something isn't right here. Something's off about you tonight._ "…Fine," he agreed once more.

The red-clad figure went straight to the fridge once they'd passed into the adjoining room. "I don't know whose this is," he said as he emerged with a pizza box in hand, "but I'm eating it." Setting his load on the table, he slumped into a chair and proceeded to drop his head into his hands, uncharacteristically ignoring the food he'd pulled out. "…I need to ask you a question. I don't think you're going to like it, but I have to ask it anyway, because you're the only one who might have an answer."

"…Ask _what_?"

"Well…it's…" He laughed uncertainly. "Iris keeps accusing me of nervous eating. She says I'm acting like I'm pregnant. I'm _not_, obviously-"

"Obviously."

"-But…it's sort of like that, I guess."

"…Flash, what the hell are you talking about?" _If you don't start making more sense, I'm going to have to assume you've hit your head on something. Does accelerated healing work on brain tissue? I'm not certain…I'll have to look into that,_ he made a mental note. _In either case, you're acting concussed._

Silence drew out. "…Batman, what…what's it like? You know, having a…a kid?" the speedster finally asked in a hoarse whisper.

…_Oh. That…was not the question I expected,_ the caped man thought, taken aback. _Although it certainly explains why I was the only member of the League you could come to with it. _The query was closer to his civilian identity than he would have preferred to discuss inside Mount Justice, but they _were_ alone, and to be fair there were enough regular people in the world with children that it wouldn't really give much away even if someone did overhear. "…Why?"

"It's…well, it's this whole…thing," Flash leaned back, letting his head and arms dangle as he stared at the ceiling. "…Iris has this nephew, right? Good kid. Maybe not always the quickest thinker, but…a good kid. The problem is that Iris' brother is _not_ a good father. Or a good man, for that matter, but that's another discussion altogether." He sighed heavily. "Anyway, we went to this family reunion of hers last weekend, and they were there. I'd met him a couple times before – her nephew, not her brother, I've already wasted far too much of my life in _his_ presence – but…I don't know, this time was different. He was kind of sitting off on the edge of things at the barbeque on Saturday afternoon, just reading a schoolbook and trying to stay out of everyone's way. I was bored out of my skull, so I went to check out what he was looking at. It…it was his science book. He said he likes science," he recalled wistfully. "And I don't know what happened after that, really. I mean, one second I was making your typical, fumbling adult-talking-to-a-preteen conversation, and then the next thing I knew we were swapping jokes and people watching. It was strange.

"A bunch of us went out to breakfast the next morning before everyone hit the road, and the same thing happened again. Only…_he_ came to _me_ that time. I guess I'd sort of been hoping he would, especially when I saw how miserable he looked between his parents at the other end of the table, but it still surprised me. When they were fixing to leave, his father," his jaw muscles visibly flexed as he ground his teeth, "made some snarky comment about how if he liked his Aunt and I so much maybe he should just go home with us. It would have been one thing if he'd been joking, but I don't think he was. No," he corrected himself, "I _know_ he wasn't joking. And Wally – that's his name, Wally – just gave me this look out of the corner of his eye, like he really, _really_ hoped I would say yeah, hop in the car, kid, but knew better. The thing was, I…I wanted to say exactly that. I really did.

"I thought it would go away once we got home. I figured maybe it was just that we were both so out of place at that reunion that we drew together from sheer survival instinct. But…I've been seeing that look he gave me all week. I keep imagining what it must be like to grow up under Iris' brother's thumb, and especially as an only child, and…it bugs the hell out of me, Batman. It bugs me because Iris and I decided before we ever got married that neither of us wanted kids, and we've both been fine with that decision, happy with it even, all this time, but…but I think I want _that_ kid. And I know that probably sounds incredibly creepy, but that friggin' _look_ makes me think maybe he wouldn't mind…you know…a change of scenery. I don't know," he finished lamely. Pulling himself back upright, he shot the cowled man a mildly surprised glance. "Wow, you're…you're actually still here."

The cowled man stared at him. "…If you thought I had left, why did you continue talking?"

"I was on a roll. I guess I needed to get all of that out, even if no one was actually listening," he shrugged back.

"…Mm."

"So…what's it like? Having…having a kid?"

"…How old is this child?" he asked instead of answering.

"Eleven."

_Just a couple of years older than Dick, then. Hmm…_ "Have you spoken to your wife about this…urge?"

"No. I think she'll be sympathetic – she made a cutesy little comment about how I was finally getting along with someone in her family besides her – but I don't know how she'd feel about actually _doing_ it. Even if her brother was amenable, that's…that's a big change, you know? It's a major decision. The fact that he's older would help minimize the interruption to our routines to an extent, but it's still bringing a whole new person into our lives, and…I guess I'm just hoping that you'll tell me I haven't gone off the deep end by wanting this. It just…it just seems nice, you know? And if anyone would know what it's like to have a kid pop into your life out of nowhere and make you start thinking crazy thoughts, I figured it would be you. You…you've been there. So I had to ask."

"…I'm not much more experienced at this than you are, Flash," Batman warned.

"You _have_ experience. That's miles ahead of me."

"…Talk to your wife. If she agrees, then…" He paused. _There are so many intricacies to what he's thinking of doing, and I can't possibly explain them properly. I feel as if he needs to know about those things before he makes this decision, but…I don't know that it will make a difference. He seems determined, and if I've learned anything of late it's that arguing with men who have already decided in their hearts that they want to be fathers is a pointless endeavor._ "…Then you should talk to the boy's parents, and to the boy himself." Fairly certain that that was more or less what the other man had wanted to hear, he turned to go.

"Batman?"

"…Yes?"

"You didn't really answer my question, you know."

"Mm." He stood stock-still in the doorway for a moment, thinking about the boy waiting for him in the cave. _The boy I've been impatient to get back to all evening,_ he allowed himself to admit. _The boy who has, despite my best efforts, grown on me…_ "…It's worth it, Flash," he replied slowly. "Whatever hesitations you may have in the beginning, it's worth it." Unwilling to say more, he swept away, turning back into the hall in the direction of the Zeta tubes.

"…Huh," the speedster breathed when the black-clad man had gone_. Batman, advocating parenthood. If his kid can make him do that after six weeks, what else is he capable of? More interestingly,_ he smirked to the empty kitchen, _when do the rest of us get to meet the mini-miracle worker?_ Still smiling, he rose from his chair and chucked the untouched pizza back into the refrigerator, then glanced at the clock. "…I hope you're still up, honey," he sighed just before he, too, headed for the transport room, "because I've got one hell of a bombshell to drop on you."

* * *

_…Fast asleep,_ Bruce smiled softly downward a short while later. The hand that wasn't occupied with gripping the cowl cupped the back of the boy's head gently. _I'm not surprised. I know you're tired._

The necessity of their appearance in court had caused the billionaire to hold off on beginning any physical training with his son in the week since his cave restrictions had been lifted. Dick had been permitted to continue his exercises on the elaborate series of bars and rings that had appeared downstairs for him during his forced absence, but otherwise his training had been focused on mental nimbleness and the rote memorization that had to be completed before what the vigilante considered to be the fun stuff could be properly taught. Bruce had had every intention of introducing him to a few basic offensive moves after they had offered testimony against Margine Randall on Thursday, but a hurried telephone conversation with Keith Jones immediately following their return home had stopped him. Dick, having been promised new instruction, pouted when he heard that there was to be another postponement. His expression had quickly shifted to a mingled delight and fear, however, once his guardian informed him that the delay was simply to ensure that he didn't speak to the family court judge who would be reviewing their application the next day with fresh bruises.

And so Friday morning had found all three of the residents of Wayne Manor back downtown. The atmosphere in the chambers where they were interviewed, first together and then one at a time, hadn't exactly been friendly, but neither had it been anywhere near as stressful as the packed house they'd faced down the day before. Dick's talk with the judge was the last and by far the longest, leaving both adults covertly squirming out in the hallway and wondering what was being said on the far side of the door. When their wearisome wait had finally ended, they'd trudged back inside, terrified that the verdict wouldn't be in their favor or, almost as miserable, would be pushed off to another day.

The boy smiled broadly when they entered, however, and the official of the court on the other side of the desk didn't draw out the suspense. "…Mr. Wayne, your expressed intentions are to keep Richard for the remainder of his minority, correct?"

"Yes, of course." _I wouldn't be going through all of this effort if I was going to want to give him back next year,_ he'd nearly rolled his eyes.

"Well, after speaking with him it seems that he's perfectly amenable to that. However, while I want to give you all some sense of stability about your living situation I also want to tread cautiously. Richard's extremely poor experience with Gotham Child Protective Services – indeed, with this city's Social Services arm altogether – may, I believe, be coloring his decision somewhat. Right now you are a safe haven, someone who is _not_ inside the system that seems to have caused him a great deal of pain. And while I have no doubt that his feelings about staying with you permanently won't change once time has distanced him from recent events," he overrode the protest that had clearly been perched on the edge of Bruce's lips, "for now I would like to take a more prudent course than granting you permanent custody."

_…If you had any idea what we've already done for one another, _the billionaire had nearly teared up, _you would realize that prudence is unjust in this matter. Although if nothing else what you're saying makes it sound as if you're at least going to let him stay with us for __some__ period of time…_ "'A more prudent course,' Your Honor?" he'd queried.

"Yes. This," he slid a document across, "is a new temporary custody order, made out for the duration of six months."

"Six…_six_ months?" _Six months. Half a year. More than three times longer than I've had him already._ A slow grin had worked its way across his face. _It isn't permanent, but it's a hell of a lot better than taking things one month at a time._

"Yes. At the end of that period you'll have to apply to extend it. You may also put in for permanent custody again at the point, although I do _not_ advise that you pursue full adoption until he's been under your care for at least a year. There's a school of thought that has gained a lot of adherents in recent years that pushes waiting to ensure that the child is a good fit in the home before granting any sort of permanent arrangement, custody included. While I believe that this will prove to be the case with Richard, the next judge whom you see may not be as eager to see the matter settled, and if anything antagonizes a 'wait-and-see' party member it's an overeager applicant. Just try and pace yourself on this, and you should be able to get what you want eventually." He handed him a pen. "Sign the bottom, please."

The billionaire had obeyed immediately, then turned to give the beaming boy beside him a smile. _Six months, kiddo. That means we've really got to start worrying about finding you a school._ He'd been hesitant, he realized, to begin looking for an institution to manage the basics of Dick's education for the simple reason that he had had no documented guarantee that they would still be under the same roof come fall. Now, watching the judge affix his own signature to the order, he almost felt like joining the child beside him in bouncing excitedly in his seat.

Dinner had been celebratory steaks and sundaes again Friday night, and while both had been overstuffed afterwards neither had wanted to wait any longer to begin Robin's martial training. The rest of the evening and a good portion of Saturday had been spent in exactly that pursuit, and as a result Bruce would have been shocked had he come home from the meeting to find the boy bright eyed and bushy tailed. _You worked hard today,_ he granted as he rubbed his back in an effort to wake him kindly. _I can't be mad at you for falling asleep over a file after everything I made you practice this afternoon. _"Dicky," he crooned.

"Mmph…"

"C'mon, chum, it's bedtime."

"I'm not…not sleepy," he murmured without opening his eyes. "Honest…"

"I think your body is saying something different. You're going to crick your neck laying like this, and if you hurt yourself sleeping wrong we won't be able to train tomorrow."

As he'd expected that it would, the threat of not being able to continue working on his new moves brought the child's head up from the table. "I'm awake now," he yawned. "…C'n I keep working? Please?"

"No, kiddo, you need to go upstairs and go to bed. You can keep working in the morning, I promise."

"Oh," he sighed. "You're back from patrol, right?" he asked, taking in the absence of the cowl.

"No. I just came back from the meeting."

"…So it's not even that late?" Dick tried one more angle hopefully.

"It's late enough," Bruce explained. "Let's go. Don't fight me on this, we both know you need to go upstairs."

Another sighed sounded. "Okay. At least I don't have to change." His field-grade Robin costume, while nearing completion according to Alfred, wasn't ready to be worn, and so he'd simply changed into pajamas before his guardian left for Mount Justice. "But…if you're going back out, that means you can't tuck me in, doesn't it?" he guessed, a note of sadness in his voice.

_…I'd have to change completely, take you upstairs, and then come back down and put everything back on,_ the billionaire considered. _It will be another half hour, easy, before I can leave if I do that. But…oh, Christ, you're pouting. Never mind._ "I can still tuck you in," he conceded with a weary smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Give me a minute."

"Yay! Can I keep reading this until you're ready?"

"Go ahead." _You probably would anyway,_ he shook his head as he walked back to the changing area.

Re-entering the main portion of the cave some five minutes later, he found Dick utterly passed out once more. _Yeah, I thought that might happen,_ he nearly chuckled, bending to pick him up.

"Bruce…" came as the clock swung open.

"Right here, chum. Don't wiggle, I don't want to drop you."

"…You wouldn't, though."

"I'd try not to." _…No. No, I wouldn't drop you. You're right._ "Go back to sleep, partner."

One exhausted orb popped open to peer up at him. "…Partner?"

"Yeah. Is that okay with you? Batman and Robin, partners?" he queried.

"…That sounds good, Bruce," the boy said with sleepy contentment, curling closer in his arms. "That…sounds really good…" With that pronouncement he fell back into slumber, a tiny, pleased smile on his lips.

…_'Partner?'_ Batman asked.

_Well, yeah,_ Bruce replied. _I mean…isn't that technically what Batman and Robin are, or will be?_

_I…_ The vigilante thought back over his conversation with Flash a short while before. For all that he would never have dreamt of taking on such a thing as a partner a mere two months before, there seemed to be no avoiding the term now; the boy had, indeed, grown on him. _Yes, I suppose so._

_ Are you all right with that? You seem hesitant,_ the billionaire frowned as he set the child down in bed and pulled the covers up securely.

For a long moment, both simply took in the expression on the unaware pixie face resting below. _I'm fine with this arrangement. And with the title you proposed,_ Batman answered eventually.

_Maybe even a little more than 'fine,' huh?_ Bruce rebutted teasingly, a smile of his own drawing the corners of his mouth upwards.

…_'Fine' may have been a…mild understatement._

_ Uh-huh. Thought so._ Shaking his head, he bent down and placed a soft kiss on the boy's temple. "Sleep tight, kiddo. You know where I'll be if you need me." With that, he began to rise. Then he hesitated, a vague shadow passing behind his eyes, and sat back down in order to lean forward once more. His lips brushed an ear as he shared three final words.

"…Good night, Robin."

**Author's Note: Tomorrow's chapter will be the last in this story. Happy reading!**


	100. Chapter 100

Alfred had offered to manage the task of finding a suitable academic environment for his younger charge, but Bruce rebuffed him. As hesitant as the billionaire had initially been with the prospect of instructing his son in the necessities of night work, once their lessons began he found himself greatly enjoying the role of teacher. That fact, paired with his intense desire to give Dick the best of everything that he possibly could, left him unable to relinquish control over any part of this crucial decision about Dick's education. As a result, the Friday afternoon following his conversation with Flash found him holed up in the study and staring blankly at the screen of his laptop, wondering if he had gotten in over his head.

He'd left work early with the idea of getting a jump on researching schools for the boy, but three hours and twenty browser tabs later he felt more confused than he had when he'd sat down. _There are just so many options,_ he sighed as he clicked through them all once more, images of manicured lawns and perfectly coiffed classes flashing by. _I know I could just send him to my old school, but…_ But that hadn't been a happy place by any stretch of the imagination, and he couldn't stand the thought of packing the child off daily to an institution which had left him with no positive memories whatsoever. _Why don't any of these recruitment sites have something that says they cater to bright, bouncy, too-smart-for-their-own-good hug monsters? Is that so much to ask, for __one__ thing to be that simple?_

Part of the problem, he knew, was that he had only a hazy clue as to where Dick belonged in terms of grade level. The results of the academic tests he'd been given while at the Center were close at hand, but they didn't offer much more than flat scores in broad, overarching categories. On top of that, Bruce's natural hesitancy to trust _anything_ that had come from the detention facility was making him question the already vague information he had. _I'd get him retested, but all of these schools seem to want to do their own admission exams. He's already going to be worn out with testing if I put in applications for him at two or three places, let alone if I have him take an independent survey, too. If no one will even accept it as sufficient proof of his abilities, it seems superfluous. Still, knowing for sure where he sits with the coursework would make this so much easier...he's past third grade, that much is for certain. But where will he be come September? Probably past fourth, too, with the way he absorbs everything around him…_

There was only one option that had stood out as all but guaranteed to be a good fit, a math and science oriented private school on the opposite side of the city. Reading about the place, Bruce had allowed himself to begin to feel excited before he realized that they only offered sixth grade and higher. _…As smart as you are, Dicky, sixth grade feels like too much of a jump,_ he'd sighed, closing the site. _Maybe you'll be ready for Gotham Academy in a couple of years, but as young as you are now I kind of doubt they'd even let you test. Besides, you should be with kids closer to your own age. I know you get along with everyone already – well, with everyone who isn't actively trying to hurt you, at least – but you need to make some friends. I didn't see any children in your age group with the caravan, and you haven't mentioned there being any, either. Now you aren't even getting to interact with new people by traveling and performing in different places. I don't want you to grow up only having interactions with criminals and people who are two or more decades older than you. I __have__ to find you a good school. Maybe if I do I can still give you the gift of normalcy, if only in one or two aspects of your life. _

For the moment, though, he needed a break. Pulling up a local news aggregation site that he was fond of due to its knack at featuring exactly the sorts of stories he was interested in, his jaw dropped. _Oh, shit. I didn't expect a verdict that fast…_ Skimming the article quickly, he determined that there was nothing in it he didn't want his son to see. "Dick. Come over here for a second, would you?"

The boy looked up from where he was sprawled on the thick rug that lay before the cold fireplace with a book. "Huh? Oh! Sure." Tucking a page marker carefully into place, he rolled to his feet and scampered over. "What's up? Did you find a good school, or…" His eyes wandered to the computer screen, widening as his voice trailed off. "…Bruce?"

"It's okay, chum," the billionaire assured as he pulled him up onto his knee. "It's okay."

"They…they found her guilty? They _really_ found her guilty?"

"Not even disreputable news sources would dare publish a headline like that without checking their facts, kiddo. It's legitimate."

"Um…this is going to sound really weird, but…would you read it?"

"…Huh? What, you mean out loud?"

"Well…yeah. I…I don't know, Bruce, it's just hard," he buried his face against the man's shoulder. "It's better if you tell me than if I try and read it myself. Please?"

_How could I possibly say no to that request?_ "Sure. Sure, I'll read it out loud. Do you want me to just start at the top and keep going until you tell me to stop?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay." Shifting the boy backwards so that he could hold him with one arm while the other scrolled through the article, he began to read:

_Senior Gotham CPS agent guilty of negligent homicide, other charges._

_A Gotham City court found former senior Child Protective Services caseworker Margine Randall guilty on multiple charges just before 5pm today in what the city's Police Commissioner, James Gordon, quickly heralded as "a highly relieving decision." Sentencing is scheduled for next week._

_The gravest charge that Randall was convicted of was negligent homicide in the death of eleven-year-old Tavon Dennison, who died at the Patrick Worthington Memorial Detention Center for Boys following a violent encounter with an older inmate. According to court documents, Dennison was being housed in the facility under an obscure section of municipal code that allows for emergency placement of non-offenders in juvenile correction and other judicial institutions when no other beds are available. The prosecution had alleged that Randall abused this loophole to conduct what District Attorney Grace Cardenas-Brown called "a disgustingly classist experiment," which was outlined in a manuscript that listed Randall and the (former) director of the Worthington Memorial Center, Dr. Jonas Whitney, as authors. Cardenas-Brown went on to state that this "experiment" was designed to "expose innocent children to psychological, emotional, and physical abuse by their more hardened peers in an effort to make them servile and conducive to 'retraining' by the defendant and her crony." _

_Other charges that Randall was found guilty of included conspiracy (3 counts), child negligence (14 counts), and submission of false documentation to the court (5 counts). The false documentation charges were reported to have been connected to Randall's apparent attempts to undermine the efforts of well-known Gotham socialite Bruce Wayne to adopt Richard Grayson, who was the sole survivor of an attack on a visiting circus that claimed his parents and who was subjected to Randall's program for a short time in the immediate aftermath of that tragedy. _

Bruce paused, wincing. "…Sorry, chum, I didn't catch that bit before I read it," he murmured. _Interesting about the false documentation, though. Now I'm curious what she was alleging. Although,_ he reconsidered, _knowing how sick and twisted she can be, maybe it's better that I __don't__ know what she was telling people I was doing to Dick. That other part, about how she put him through her program…I wish they hadn't published that. The people who were so cruel to him at the banquet are the of same sort who send their children and grandchildren to some of the schools I'm considering, and the last thing he needs is for people to complain that they don't want him there because of what Randall put him through._

_"…_S'okay," the boy answered quietly, still averting his gaze from the screen. "…Is there more?"

"Yeah, there's more. Let's see…" Wanting to avoid blurting out any more painful reminders, he went through the article on his own, only offering those bits of information that he thought would be of interest to the child in his lap. "Okay, so they're going to try Whitney next – if they got her, they'll get him, too, I'm sure – and…oh, hey, here's some good news," he squeezed him gently.

"What is it?"

"Well, even if Whitney is acquitted of everything there's no way they'll want him going back to his job at the Center. So they've named someone to take his place."

"…Who is it?"

"Linda Bergman."

"…They made Miss Linda in charge of the whole Center?" Dick asked, his voice laden with pleased surprise.

"Yup. It looks like the decision was made back when Whitney was indicted, but they waited to announce it until they saw which way the winds were going to blow. This says she already has plans to change a lot of things about how that place is run."

"It's already better, just by having her in charge," the youth opined firmly. "She cares about people, Bruce. She cared about Caleb, and me, and maybe even about Kevin, when no one else did. Well," he amended, not wanting to hurt his guardian's feelings by implying that he hadn't cared in the beginning, "when no one _seemed _to care, I guess. She's the sort of person who _should_ be running the Center."

"I agree, kiddo."

"Can we send her a card?"

"A card?" Bruce frowned down at him.

"Yeah. Like…congratulations? And…and thank you? Can we do that?"

_Of course you want to send her a card. That's so…you._ "Sure. Talk to Alfred, he's got a box full of them just waiting to be used. One for every occasion, he always says."

"Okay." They were silent for a moment. "…Does it say anything about _him_? About…about Kevin?"

"…Yes," the billionaire picked out the teen's name towards the bottom of the article. "…He cut a plea deal." _Son of a bitch._

"A plea deal? What's that?"

"That's when someone admits to having done something in exchange for a concession from the court. In Kevin's case," he grimaced, "he pled guilty to aggravated assault and manslaughter. If he'd decided to say he wasn't guilty and go to trial, the way Randall did, they would have tried him for murder and a bunch of other stuff, assault, intimidation, things like that. This way he doesn't risk a murder conviction. They gave him ten years in prison, with mandatory anger management counseling for the duration of his sentence and probation." _It's not enough,_ he protested silently._ Not for any murder, and certainly not for the murder of an innocent child. That's not even enough for what he did, and then threatened to do, to __my__ boy…_

"…Maybe they can make him better now, in grown-up jail. Maybe the counseling is what he needs," Dick piped up hopefully.

"…Yeah, maybe," Bruce agreed without believing a word of it. _No, he's one that will either kill or be killed behind bars,_ he mused. _If he ever does get out, I don't imagine that it will be long before he's back inside, quite possibly due to the work of Batman. Or of Robin, _a slight smile crossed his lips despite the dark topic at hand. _I'd prefer that, to be honest. Watching you punch his lights out and hand him over to the cops…yeah. I'd pay good money to see that._ "Here's one more thing," he went on. "They replaced Randall, too. A man named Erwin took over for her. It sounds like he has just as many ideas about things as Miss Linda does." He shut the computer firmly, unable to process any more new information after everything that he'd just read. "Do you want to go tell all of this to Alfred? You know he's going to be happy to hear it."

"That would be nice. We should do that," he nodded. "But…Bruce?"

"Hmm?"

"Does this mean that that Mr. Erwin is going to be my new social worker?"

"I don't think so. When I spoke with Keith – Mr. Jones – on Tuesday, he said they'd assigned you to another lady, but he didn't have her name yet."

"Oh. Well, she can't be worse than my old social worker, so…"

_Yeah,_ Bruce snorted to himself. _Short of your new caseworker being Tony Zucco's vengeful ghost, there isn't much chance of this being anything other than a positive change. _Caught by the image he'd conjured up, he shivered. _Ugh. No. Don't think about things like that,_ he instructed himself sharply. _It can't happen in any case, because ghosts aren't real. Get ahold of yourself, Wayne…_ "Right," he conceded. "Now come on, let's go tell Alfred all of the juicy stuff. You know he loves hearing about bad guys getting their comeuppance, even if he'll never admit it."

"Right," Dick grinned.

The butler was understandably ecstatic. "That is most excellent news, sirs," he stated, pausing his work on their dinner to listen raptly as they took turns giving out tidbits about the article they'd read together. "And it comes at a fortuitous time, as well."

"…It does?" both of his charges asked simultaneously, exchanging a glance.

The Englishman nearly laughed out loud at their identical expressions. "Indeed it does. For you see, Master Dick's Robin costume is ready."

"_Really_?" a squeal of delight sounded.

"Ow, kiddo, jeez, was that loud enough for you?" Bruce flinched, reaching for his ear dramatically.

Alfred bit back a chuckle. "While I understand that you've now received two very exciting pieces of news back to back, young sir, I must insist that you try and use your inside voice whilst expressing your joy anywhere other than in the yard."

"Sorry," the boy blushed. "But…can I see it? When can I try it on? Bruce, do you think I can do my training in costume tonight? Please? I know it isn't a toy, but…can I just _please_ try it out?" In his eagerness one hand reached out and gripped his guardian's sleeve, begging wordlessly.

"…Yes," the billionaire acceded. "After dinner Alfred can explain everything he used to make it – that's important to know, by the way, so pay attention – and then you can try it on. And then," he added secretively, "I have a special surprise for you."

"You do?! What is it?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise. Just wait, chum. Besides, you need to be in costume to do it, so even if I told you now you couldn't have it any sooner." _I just hope you like it._

The youth fidgeted all through their meal, wolfing his food in an obvious effort to get downstairs faster. Taking pity on him, Bruce also ate more quickly than usual. As soon as their plates were clean and cleared, the trio trooped downstairs, Alfred leaving the other two alone long enough to retrieve his project from its hiding spot. "Here we are, sirs," he hung it up where they could both see. "A costume fit for a boy wonder, I believe."

"…A what?" Dick asked, eyebrows knitting.

"A boy wonder, young sir. It seems a fitting title for you given the already broad range of talents you possess at such a young age, but if you don't like it I'll refrain from using it again."

"No! No, I…I like it," he promised. "Robin, the Boy Wonder. Does that sound good, do you think?" he glanced between the two adults.

"Indeed it does, Master Dick."

"…It _is_ pretty catchy," Bruce admitted.

"…Cool," Dick grinned, then drew close to his new garments. "It looks just like my other one almost, but…I don't know, it's kind of different, too. And it _feels_ different, for sure."

"There are some rather fascinating blends present in your disguise, Master Dick," the butler explained as he came to kneel beside him. "The main body of the outfit is a light Kevlar-woven synthetic fabric. It will help regulate your body temperature while also providing a modest amount of protection from projectiles. It's nowhere near as effective at that task as true armor," he looked displeased, "but your size and the techniques that you have been developing aren't conducive to such an apparatus. Perhaps when you're a bit older when can revisit the question, but for now this should lend you a little protection. Keep in mind, however, that it will at best only slow whatever you are being struck with, not stop it. Do not attempt to go about taking blows in the manner that Master Wayne does in his full armor."

"I won't," the boy promised dutifully.

"Very good. Now, your boots are very thick, and have soles similar to those on Batman's footwear; highly impenetrable, waterproof, et cetera. There is a metal lining in the toes, but it isn't as thick as that in Batman's boots. It's still plenty to make anyone you kick regret it more than they might otherwise, but it should be light enough not to make walking long distances an awful chore. Special attention was given to this feature," he picked up one shoe and bent it nearly in half in his hands. "They're very protective, but also very flexible. You shouldn't experience any problems whatsoever being able to perform your usual acrobatics in them. Your gloves were designed on a similar premise, with heavy focus going into making sure that your fingers wouldn't feel encumbered or their movements restrained while you were wearing them.

"As for your cape," he fingered the yellow and black material, "I believe we've weighted it properly to keep it from becoming a nuisance during your more complicated routines. It does not have nearly the anti-corrosion factor of Batman's capes," he warned, "so do _not_ believe for an instant that you can undergo the sort of spraying that he described as having taken in the fertilizer factory without it burning through very swiftly. It's quite fire and waterproof, but the only way to make it impervious to acids would have been to create something far too heavy for you to drag around all night. Your mask has also been modified to include a radio and a few other…goodies." The butler stepped back. "I'll allow Master Wayne to show you where he's placed everything in your utility belt, and to let you in on a few special features that I glossed over. I hope you like it, young sir?"

"Like it?" Dick gasped, having listened to the descriptions with an awed air. "I _love_ it! It's so amazing…" Flinging himself at the Englishman, he gave him a massive hug, overwhelmed by the obviously huge amount of work that had gone into the outfit before him. "Thank you, thank you _so_ much, it's perfect, I promise I'll take good care of it cause I know it was a lot to do, oh, _gosh_, Alfred…" Tearing away, he skipped back to the uniform. "Do you think I can put it on now, Bruce?" he queried, turning to find his guardian. A frown etched over his lips. "…Where did he go?"

"Go get changed, Dick," a low voice ordered as Batman appeared from the costuming area. The billionaire had snuck away during Alfred's explanations to prepare his surprise, and his reappearance in full battle dress drew a pair of curious looks. "Alfred, will you excuse us?" _It isn't that I'm opposed to you being here, _he thought as the child bolted past, hanger in hand,_ but…this just feels like something that ought to be done in private. _

"Of course, sir," the older man acquiesced after a brief pause. _Do I want to know what you're doing with a candle in hand? No,_ he decided a moment later, _I probably do not. _"If either of you require anything before the end of the night…" he trailed off, moving slowly towards the stairs.

"Right."

_Very well, then_, the butler sighed, then smiled slightly as Dick, having changed in record time from sheer eagerness, reappeared in his new vestments. _Have your secrets from me, the both of you. So long as you at least share them with one another, I suppose my worry will be tolerably assuaged._ He glanced back once before vanishing into the upper levels of the house, looking just in time to see Batman study the boy from head to toe and give a single short nod of approval. _You'll do fantastic things together, I think,_ he decided, a mixture of pride and fear stirring in his stomach. _I only hope that your partnership will outlast me, because I do not believe that I would have the strength to see one of you go. Well,_ he stiffened his expression, _that shan't be the case. You'll take of one another whether I'm nearby or not. That, I am positive, is something I can count on._

Once they were alone Batman led Robin to a length of counter that he had specifically cleared for this purpose. It had taken a bit of arguing with his civilian alter-ego to gain permission for what was about to occur, but for all that Bruce still loathed the idea of Dick fighting crime indefinitely he hadn't required much cajoling to be reminded that, no matter how much he opposed it, it was something that the child needed for his own wellbeing. Once that issue had been cleared up the vigilante had been able to focus on creating a simple ritual, something that would formalize his young partner's entrance into night work and give him a very basic foundation on which to base all of the deeds he would undertake henceforth. Now he set up the candle he had carried over, lit it, and turned to the solemnly watching child. "Robin," he began.

"Yes, Batman?"

"…Do you recall the oath you took last week in court?"

"Yes. Of course I do."

"Good." He hesitated. _You look so damned innocent right now. You've no idea. But…this has to be done. What's more, you deserve this. You've earned this moment._ _We must proceed…_ "Robin, is it your intention with this mask," one gauntleted finger stretched out, just for a second, to trace the very edge of the boy's disguise, "to defend the weak and champion the cause of justice?"

"Absolutely," came back instantly.

…_That was faster than I expected. You didn't even have to think about it. _Only a desire to maintain the sober atmosphere of the moment kept him from smirking proudly. "Then, if you so desire, take this candle in your left hand and raise your right."

Robin did as he'd been asked, swallowing hard. _This…I'm making a promise,_ he realized as his hand rose. _A huge, super important promise, something…something I can never, ever break. But…that's okay. I know I won't break it. Whatever it is, Batman wouldn't ask me to swear to it if he didn't know it was something I'll never go back on. So…yes. I want this. I want to do this, and with __you._ "I swear to fight for justice and right wherever I find it threatened," he repeated after the black-clad man, "and to be a beacon of light and hope wherever darkness gathers. I further swear to do these things with respect for human life and the rule of law. This oath I shall carry with me and uphold until the end of my days."

The last word died out, and for a moment neither spoke, the whites of their respective lenses staying welded to one another as they soaked in the aftermath of those monumental words. Finally Batman took the candle and gently snuffed it out. "…Robin?"

"Yes, Batman?"

"You can lower your hand now."

"Oh! Sorry. I just…you know…wanted to make sure we were all done. I didn't want to mess up something so…so important." He paused. "Thank you, Batman. Thank you for letting me do that. For letting me…letting me do _this,_" his hand rose to his face.

"Keep your oath, Robin, and you'll have more than earned the right to wear that mask," the vigilante breathed back.

"I will. I promise." He looked down. "I got some wax on the floor. I'll clean it up, though, don't worry."

"Wait," the man stopped him. "…Leave it."

"But…won't Alfred have to pick it up then?"

"It's all right, Robin. Let it stay." _I want it there. I want it there as a reminder, of this night, not for you necessarily, but...for myself._

The boy watched his mentor for a moment, head cocked to one side as he tried to decide what that strange order signified. Understanding blossomed in his mien suddenly, and he smiled. "…Batman?"

"Yes, Robin?"

"Do you remember before, when you told me that sometimes bad things happen to good people?"

"…Yes. Why?"

"Well, I think you forgot to tell me something about that. Something important, actually."

"And what was that?" an eyebrow lifted beneath the cowl.

"You forgot to tell me that sometimes _good_ things happen to good people, too."

"…You're right, Robin. I did forget that part." A beat passed. "Sometimes good things do, in fact, happen to good people." _Even if the person in question doesn't really deserve it,_ he mused, considering the clever child standing before him. _Like me. But fortunately,_ he added as thin arms wrapped around his waist, _I have you to remind me just how much good there is in the world, and how much more of it than I'm entitled to I've been given. Thank you for that, Robin, _his arm fell to squeeze him for the space of a heartbeat. _Thank you._

**Author's Note: First, and most importantly, thank you all so much for sticking with this story all the way through 100 chapters. When I started on this I had absolutely no idea that it would turn into such a behemoth, but I'm glad it did because it was such a joy to write. The wonderful reviews and comments I've received from so many of you during the course of this tale was the fuel that kept the muse goin; hopefully you're pleased with the end result. I know I am. For those of you who came into this story without having read any of my other pieces in the Spark in the Dark universe, I hope you enjoyed our journey here enough to continue reading. A full, chronological list of Spark in the Dark stories can be found on my profile.**

**Now, a little housekeeping. My goal is to post another chapter of 'Joker's Little Party' before the end of the week. I'm going out of town this weekend so I likely won't be posting daily until next Tuesday, but I'll try to get something out if I can. Next week will see the last two chapters of 'Joker,' probably a new 'Spot of Tea' chapter, and possibly the beginning of a short piece (no more than ten chapters) set shortly after 'Weekend in Bruges' that will explain the origins of Gobblehead. After two or so weeks of shorter works I will be stepping away from Spark in the Dark (temporarily!) to write a story that I've been looking forward to doing almost since I began writing in this fandom. It will be a Dick and Tim bonding and adventure piece set in the middle of nowhere, and I think it will be a fun read. **

**To answer a couple of questions that were asked by several readers over the past couple of days, yes, I will be shedding more light/spending more time exploring Barry and Wally's relationship in the Spark in the Dark universe. Most of this exploration will be done in the context of Batman stories, but depending on what I come up with I may at some point do a story or two within the Spark universe that focuses specifically on the speedsters. Others commented that they don't want to see this story be the end of the Spark universe, and I assure you, it is not. I have many more ideas for this universe, and I'm eager to share them with everyone willing to take the time to read them.**

**On that note, thank you all once more for the time and energy you've spent reading and, in many cases, reviewing this story. I hope that you enjoyed it, and I look forward to setting off on the next adventure with you. Happy reading!**


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